


Bad x Bad

by Clevertyrant



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy/Adventure, Angst, Eventual Romance, First-Person Narrative, However it magically fuses with the manga events, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Drama, Slow Burn, This will be very long, Time Skips, Tragedy/Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11688720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clevertyrant/pseuds/Clevertyrant
Summary: Legends and tales are nothing but figments of fervent imagination; are something that human beings createfor other human beingsin order to escape boredom and routine. This world is divided into believers and non-believers. Fate is a prankster and always shows its wonders to those who don't wish to see them.





	1. Beginning x End

Imagine this as _your_ own fantasy.

As my _fantasy._

Imagine this as _something_ you will never believe.

But _that exists_.

  
—

 

There was a legend among us kids when I was around ten years old. It was nothing formidable or never heard of, it was clichéd and full of bullcrap... but we kids believed it and created tons of stories around it. There was an old well near the bank. Strange but true. _An old well near a bank._ I never gave a damn, at that time, about the reason for why there was a well near _a bank._  It was just a well, a neglected, dirty old well near a goddamn bank. People went in and walked out the near facility without so much as glancing at it. It wasn’t the kind of well you’d find near shrines, nor the refined type that usually adorns manicured gardens. It was just a wild heap of cheap round stones and wood, that on its better days might even have had a roof. I still wonder why, of all the places we could have found in Tama… we chose the worst as hideout; but it was that one and near _a bank_ we would spend great part of the day when we weren’t too busy roaming elsewhere. Another thing I don’t absolutely recall is why _I was part of that pack of imbeciles,_ as well as contrariwise it’s impossible to forget that out of that bunch of snotty-nosed brats, I was the most unlucky.

As I said, that well wasn’t just a run-down gathering place, but also the root of wanky tales all created around a legend. There were so many versions of it I fail to recall the authentic one, but each of them had three things in common: 100 yen, strange events occurring exclusively under a determinate weather (which could range from hail to rain, depending on whose story you liked the most) and your soul being devoured by the entity living in the well. Sometimes, they were just ugly parodies of folkloristic spirits; other times phantoms or aliens, even serial killers. All the fables were stupid and over exaggerated; however, none of them portrayed the one who lived in the well as a good creature. Which kid would want that if he can have monsters?

Let me specify I was basically there as nothing more than a wallflower. People dragged me to that place after school and started to brag about new bullshit while I just did my homework. I wasn’t really interested in them but neither disliked (that much) belonging to a group. It was just a case, a very unfortunate one, that decided I couldn’t be spared from that folly and should thus have (against my will) a version of the legend, too.

Let me warn you beforehand: this is the most pitiful and absurd of them all.

 

* * *

 

_Tokyo, Tama prefecture. July 20, 2007._

 

“Kimishita! Are you stopping by the hideout after school or gotta kick your bum to the well as usual?” It was a shriek, coming from who - by all means - looked no different than a running meat-ball with a sprout of black and curly hair jutting out the stupid baseball cap that kid wore backwards. (To be quite frank, I never stood that brat, for that reason, everything about him - except made for annoying and unforgivable details - are nothing but blurry recollections); he lived in the neighborhood and _sadly_ was part of the gang. That day was the last one before the summer break and everybody’s spirits were high up in the sky alongside fancy plans involving the beach, videogames and the scorching sun hitting our heads like a motherfucker. The crickets were chirping, the path toward school full of rowdy children and my mood was bad enough to reply with a pissed off: “go alone and drown in it!”

I confess that I’ve never been very social in general, but that specific kid rubbed the wrong side of my fur in many ways. Kick my butt? As if.

“ _Scaaary_!” He laughed, and once reached me dared slap the source of my anger without preambles with those fatty, sweaty and muddy hands of his. My neck. The patch of sunburnt, red and hurting neck I was struggling not to think about. I gritted my teeth but didn’t snap. I knew better than give in to stupid provocations and show up at school all bloody and tattered.

Injuries meant burdening teachers, and concerned teachers always call home. No matter how angry or upset I was, my house was a place that must stay worry-free. For that reason, I just took the brunt and balled my fingers into tight fists.

“Wow, what a pansy! I thought you’d start crying and call your momma but… you don’t have a momma. Mumless junkboy. Ah! _Mumless junkboy!” As I said,_ his face is nothing but a blurry blob in my memory, but that - ironically - fat laugh and screechy voice are still engraved in it.

It wasn’t a news that I had just one parent. It didn’t bother me… most of the times.

“My dad calls those mommas bitches. So your mom was a bitch.” He said.

 _Most of the times,_ **_I_ ** _said._

I presume everybody must’ve heard me screaming, because all I remember is a huddle of hollering brats betting on me or the meat-guy while I tackled him to the floor, straddled and ultimately punched his face yelling “you’re dead!” for all the ride.

The more I hit, the more the corners of my eyes prickled and my knuckles hurt. I still don’t know, to this day, if the anxiety welling up in my chest was the result of his words or my patience that had finally reached a limit. I just punched that chunky face with all the strength I had.

Luckily, after a while, providence decided I wasn’t ready to spit one of two teeth at such tender age yet. I don’t recall how many little arms grabbed my waist or which kind of driving force came into play to remove that flailing whale from under my weight; but at some point we were separated and glaring at each other - panting - from a distance; elbows scraped and bleeding.

“You poop! Stinky poop, that’s why you’re _momless_!” He shouted. Meat boy sobbed and sweated while yelling at me; as I fought back the tears myself. I was a wimp. I little wimp. Nothing more than a wimp. A very proud one, to boot.

“You—” but as I was about to retort, voice cracked and threatening to betray my confusion and anger…

“S...shut up, fatass! A-Akkun’s got the...the... best dad in the world, he doesn’t need a mom!” The low, very low and shy shout that stopped me at the offset belonged to a short boy. If he hadn’t run before me spreading his arms open, perhaps nobody would have noticed him. Kenta Gushiken was a slip of a thing and sported a very short and schooled hairstyle many would’ve found more suitable during the Taisho era; as if someone had used a bowl and trimmed his black, slick hair following its shape. Also his name was quite unsuitable of his image; not only because it seemed something one’d rather find into a manga but because it contained words like ‘strong’ or ‘big’. _It wasn’t because his father and two brothers were all devoted sumo wrestlers and the fact his family owned a dojo dedicated to that sport was just a coincidence…_ he used to say. Fact is that, he really tried, despite his minute countenance, to live up to his relatives’ expectations— the only problem was… that he wouldn’t have been able to spook a flower, let alone a human being.

“Screw you, Gushgurl!” a couple of Meat Guy’s minions hollered from behind him. “Gushgay, Gushpussy!” They chanted in unison, while laughing and spitting at him.

From my peripheral vision I’d started to already notice the suspicious glinting on his eyelashes and for that reason, I wiped off what remained of my bleeding split lip with the back of my hand and stalked forward; grabbing Kenta’s hand and hauling him away from that mess without adding more.

“A—Akkun… wait!” He cried, stumbling behind me. “Are you angry? Did Kenta do something bad?” But no matter how many times he asked, I just walked briskly toward the school gate glaring at the hot asphalt beneath me and dragging the other kid along.

 

* * *

 

At noon, my scowl was still in place and my eyes fixed on the exercise book under my nose, of which, to be honest, I wasn’t reading a single line. The sound of the chalk scraping on the blackboard was everything one could hear except made for the faint murmurs occasionally rising from the back rows but I knew all the eyes in the classroom were on me. As soon as I and Kenta had reached the shoe lockers, that morning, the homeroom teacher had seized us both like loots. After thirty minutes of droning lecture he had sent me to the infirmary and him to class. When we had parted, he was still on the verge of tears.

After that, the nurse had shoddily patched me up and just shooed me out like a virus. Result: once _reinstated_ among my peers I’d been stared at for all the morning like some sort of little hooligan. In that moment, I was sporting oversized band-aids on both my knees and elbows, one bigger than the others on my forehead and a tiny one on the lip. If I had been lucky that nobody had called my dad on one side, I was really anxious on the other. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want him to see me like that. I simply… couldn’t allow it.

I’d just drifted off lost in thought, boring holes in the blackboard, when someone started poking my back with the tip of a pencil. Repeatedly. Annoyingly.

Even though the impulse of turning around and yell at the offender almost possessed me like a demon, I chose to stay put and just throw a glance over my shoulder instead. I was already in trouble, couldn’t really risk to add more guilt to the burden.

Behind me seated Daikon. No, not the radish, the kid was called in that way because he literally ate just that; or at least… liked the vegetable so much he pretended it in every meal. Puns aside, you always found daikon in his lunch box. He was a scrawny child, you could observe his bones popping out from his clothes and wonder how could he be so good at soccer. Sometimes, after school, we used to play together on the pitch behind his home. But he never scored once. Not against me.

Daikon, whose eyes were round and tiny, so black you couldn’t almost tell the pupil from the iris; flung a piece of folded paper on the floor near my chair and without uttering a word nodded at it, silently suggesting me to pick it up. I glared at the note, turning immediately after. Better to ignore it.

“Pssst, come on Akkun! Take it. Pass it. It’s important.” He whispered and poked me again, this time on the patch of sunburned skin that stupid barrel of Meat Guy had already slapped before. I winced in pain. But didn’t yield again.

 _Didn’t he see my face?_ I wondered. _If the teacher sees this, bet your lunch that we’re dead… no… I’m double dead!_

The sudden awareness that I still wore those ugly band-aids struck me like a lightning, _again._

I buried my nose in the pages of the exercise book, lifting it enough to at least cover the one on my mouth. It still hurt but was nothing compared to the sensation coiling in the pit of my stomach. I knew it very well, it was embarrassment. If there was a thing I disliked more than anything… was public shame. And these sticky… colored… plasters were enough to make me wish to dig a hole and bury myself in it forever.

In the meanwhile, Daikon continued poking my neck until lunchtime.

When the bell rang I bolted from my seat like a dart, rummaged in my bag for my lunchbox twice as fast and was prepared to run outside…

“Since Akkun was mean and didn’t pass on the message, he’ll decide who’s going to be the storyteller today… unless he wants to be the one?” But Daikon’s shrilling, little voice rose up from behind me, beating me to the punch.

I felt my body heavy, as if someone had just secured a block of concrete at my feet. Daikon pointed a finger in my direction, nodding firmly, while a bunch of too lively children started gathering around me like starved vultures. So that was what that scrap of paper was about. Another stupid meeting at the well and their fantomatic legends. All stuff I didn’t care about one bit.

“I…” was there a way to escape the pillory unscathed? I threw a few glances around in the hope to find a quick getaway. Just by sheer coincidence - or because lady luck for once had chosen to spare me - my fervent seeking stopped under the arch of the door where I spotted Kenta timidly peeking inside the classroom undecided if to enter or not.

“I’m busy!” I pushed Daikon aside, perfectly knowing that stunt would just delay my sentence for a few hours but was enough to momentary set me free from that bunch of squealing sharks.

“Busy with what… hey, Akkun!? Duh, okay… who wants to pick the storyteller?” While surfing among the pushing kids as one would have in a packed train during the rush hour, I noticed that none of them was actively trying to hold me back. On the contrary, many hands had risen at once and everyone around had started pushing me away in order to get chosen. Additionally, the fact that Daikon had already given up after harassing me for thirty minutes just brought heat to my cheeks once again.

Unable to understand if it was anger or just embarrassment for thinking they’d have pursued me, I merely stalked off toward Kenta; who, spotting my new scowl, didn’t ask anything and just followed me outside.

We sat on the last step of the stairway that brought to the second floor eating in silence like strangers. Our clothes were so soaked of sweat they seemed stitched on the skin. Summer had always been a pain. Our neighborhood school wasn’t that big; in fact, was a two story old building with not many classes. Only convenient because it was just ten minutes away from my house. It was nicely kept, clean and all, but it lacked air conditioning: so, no matter how many windows one opened, there was no path toward salvation when the heat kicked in. Just that spot was cool enough to at least eat without unintentionally adding bodily salt to your meal. Hastily, I forked a piece of insanely sweet tamagoyaki in my lunch box, biting into it as angrily as would have a wild little boar.

“It hurts?” Kenta’s voice was so naturally low that if I wasn’t used to it, I bet I’d have just missed the question.

“No.” I frowned at the half munched omelet in my bento box as though it was laughing at me. “Kenta is sorry.” His little whisper goaded me to turn in his direction, confused.

“What for?” He was about to cry again, his thin, slant-eyes were already scrunched into pained slits.

“If Kenta had come earlier…”

“Don’t be stupid.” I cut him off, “you know that fat kid, he’s like that with everyone. I…I don’t care about what he said.” However, I was sure enough my face was telling another story because Kenta just looked at me like as if someone had stabbed a kitten in front of him and started hiccupping after two seconds flat.

“It’s true!” I stood up abruptly, so suddenly that what remained of my lunch winded up all scattered on the steps beneath… or… almost.

“Ah…”

“U...uh...gh…”

Both I and Kenta observed the contents of the spilled food, then the pair of red, polished sneakers lying underneath a mix of broccoli flowerets, eggs and rice… until we reached the unamused grimace of a third person we both knew very well.

“They were new,” the light-haired boy pointed out; his piercing hazel irises lazily assessing the both of us.

Wait… lazily?

“ **Sho** …?” We intoned questioningly, in unison.

“No.” The blond kid wagged a finger in front of his face while an easy - stupid - smile broke on his face at the same time. “ _My name is Goku and I'm from Earth_. I didn’t need shoes to fight anyway.” He said, while casually toeing off one of the sneakers without a care in the world.

For someone who didn’t know him, Shouichi Ota might have sounded a freak or a poor boy affected by BPD. Which wasn’t that far from reality but not even entirely true. He was just what one would define an extreme otaku. So savage he made his heroes part of himself… mixing them up most of the times. Me, he and Kenta were those that people commonly define childhood friends. Grown up in the same district, near one another and never separated since kindergarten. When did Sho became like that isn’t part of my reminiscences but… I’m pretty sure he was a _normal_ child until first grade. After that, nobody knows what happened in his brain; but since it was matter of take or leave… we just _accepted his peculiarity as it came, without many questions._

Barefoot and happy, the third musketeer pushed Kenta away and stole his place, obviously making him cry for the fourth or fifth time in a day.

I sighed, mentally bidding farewell to my lost lunch and retrieving my place on the step.

“What happened to your face, Akkun?” Of course he had to point _that_ out. I _casually_ turned my attention to the lunch box still on the floor, reaching out to salvage at least the container in order not to look him in the eye.

“N—Nothing, let it sl—” I began.

“It’s been my faaaaaaault… I can’t even protect Akkuuuuun! That bully punched him and called him mo—” Shouichi didn’t let Kenta continue. He muffled his painful cry with his arm by wrapping it around Kenta’s neck and pulling him closer, ruffling his hair with the other hand.

“That’s awful...” He intoned meekly. “You know I can fire a Kamehameha in a nanosecond. Why didn’t you call me? You know… the bat signal.” He pointed a finger to the ceiling and Kenta followed the gesture with his gaze, still sniffling and probably confused as to what he should’ve been looking at. “But I’m sure it’s just a case,” Sho continued, “because if there was a ball around, Akkun could’ve knocked him off immediately with _the power of his right foot._ ” The more he went on with his rambling, the more dramatic he became, his eyes narrowing while forlornly gazing at some non-existent sky. If nothing, he had a future assured in the showbiz.

“My what?” I feigned surprise whereas there was none. It wasn’t the first time he — no, they — mentioned my skillfulness in that sport. Soccer, that is. Something I started accepting as a dream I could work on just a few years before. My father owned a store of _sporting goods_ in what once was the renowned shopping venue of our district. _Once_ , when the big mall near Sakuragaoka station still didn’t exist; a place full of new and furnished boutiques. Despite that, even though our financial situation wasn’t the best, he kept working and working and working day and night convinced that sooner or later it would reflourish. That’s why… I needed to become a pro soccer player. He told me that, if I made it into that world, if I became famous enough, then... our shop would go back to its original splendor. For that reason —  despite being a kid inclined to quit on stuff if I even slightly suspected it could be too hard for me to cope with — I didn’t give up. If I could do something for that person, if I could grant the wish of that person… if my effort could bring happiness to that person; then I’d give my all in order to reach that goal.

Later on, I started liking it, after many trips and falls… when the ball turned light under my foot, when my legs seemed stronger, when I understood it wasn’t so difficult to foresee the moves of my opponents and when every small victory made me feel alive… in that moment… I thought it could as well become my own dream; not just that of my father. The truth was, I liked when others flattered me, I liked when others cheered for me, I liked the thought that I was the strongest.

That’s why, when Shouichi praised me like that I babbled out a random sentence and turned away. I didn’t blush. I didn’t stutter. I just smiled, fondly.

“Akkun?” Two seconds later, the blow-up of Kenta’s puffed, red eyes appeared before me. He was on all fours just under me, peeking at my face with curiosity. Shouichi, too, on the other side, had approached me with the same intent.

“You’re finally happy.” Kenta pointed out, offering me a bright smile.

“W...w...?!” I stepped back clumsily, almost tripping in the process. My face burned with embarrassment.

“Akkun is so cheap.” Murmured the wannabe Son Goku, shrugging at my useless glare. “Sho-kun, don’t be mean! Akkun is the greatest kid in the world!” the other countermanded. They’d seen it or not? Maybe they did. I hoped they didn’t but they certainly did. Their comments gave it all out.

“S-shut up you jerks!” Ahhh, embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing. I wanted to die. They both cracked the same, identical grin. Shouichi joined his hands to mimic a gun and soon Kenta run in front of him feigning fright; until they cried in unison: “Oh no, Akkun activated the tsunbeam! Run! Run!”

I remember yelling strings of expletives I wasn’t supposed to say at my age, turned on my heels and marched back to class. Fortunately the bell rang in that precise second, preventing any comeback.

 

* * *

 

 

It was four in the afternoon and my face was still contorted in a grimace. I was still pissed off for before, hungry because I didn’t eat much, and to make things worse, after lunch I had discovered that Meat Guy was apparently going to be that day’s storyteller. How did it end up like that was beyond me but at least I had a valid excuse not to show up at the hideout.

I wasn’t scared or anything.

Simply, I found that place insufferable in many ways; with or without that fat kid.

When the homeroom teacher finally announced the beginning of the summer break, as expected, a horde of children swarmed in the corridors like crazy bees, leaving me alone in the classroom.

I scanned the empty room absentmindedly, without raising from my seat. I ended up observing a specific patch of floor; there, the sunlight filtering from the large side window formed intricate plays of glittering, kaleidoscopic hues on the wooden surface. I flipped a page of the math textbook once, twice…

There were times in which silence was a blessing, especially after spending hours and hours amidst boisterous peers. However, it also allowed me to overthink things.

I didn’t want to go home. That thought had been floating in the back of my mind all the day. I was still covered in plasters and I could already imagine the face my dad would make seeing them.

If only I didn’t give in, if I ignored stupid provocations…

I could feel the pang of blood in my mouth, chewing the inside of it had always been a bad habit. I wanted to grow up fast and become an adult soon, so I could be a soccer player; so I could make that person proud and not… disappointed.

“Kimishita, are you still here?”

The deep, low-pitched voice of the homeroom teacher echoed amidst the four walls like the sound bare feet make on a carpet. Soft. Cautious. When I looked up, a slight frown welcomed me. Not a condemning frown. A concerned one. He was a middle aged man in his forties, which always wore strange patterned bowties upon exclusively black shirts and white slacks. Everything else on him was one would find in a classic Japanese man. Black slicked-back hair and almond-cut brown eyes containing that sort of conservative coldness one can find just in old movies nowadays.

“Yes, I… was just…” he didn’t smile, but somehow his hard façade seemed so thaw a bit; just for a second.

“It is good to be focused on your studies as you are; however, you should also consider socialization as a fundamental part of growth. The freedom you have now won’t last forever.” He said, his voice controlled. Cool.

I liked how he stated things as they were; that didn’t sugarcoat truths behind childish examples; that talked to me like he would do with another adult. For that reason I looked up to him.

I stood up and nodded, bowed once and retrieved my belongings in order to leave the class.

“Freedom, however, doesn’t mean resorting to fists.” The teacher continued, “I have faith you’ll rethink your actions next time. That is the reason that made me overlook this episode. Let me remind you that the stronger man is the one that can steel himself before the adversity; not the one that lets it get to him.” He pointed out. And there was a fatherly tint in his voice that made my whole body shudder.

_Steel myself._

I stared at him bewildered for a handful of seconds, and if he didn’t clear his voice to make it known I was dismissed, probably, I would’ve kept gawking for who knows how long.

“Yes!” I replied promptly, “Thank you for your words!” I bowed again, but this time I stayed like that for a while…thinking about what he just said... how I could apply that to my life.

At that moment, while my gaze was still on the floor, something I hadn't noticed before popped up in the corner of my visual field. That morning’s note —the one Daikon threw at me— was still there, trapped under the rear leg of my chair.

I picked it up with the clear intention of throwing it away… however, while my right hand closed around the scrap of paper, crumpling it, the corners of the latter unfolded; leaving me no other choice but to glimpse at the contents.

_Kagome, kagome, the bird in the cage._

These lines…

_When, oh when will it come out?_

They belonged to that game.

_In the night of dawn,_

A game these stupid kids played often, circling hand-in-hand around the well. They believed something like that could evoke whatever legendary creature lived at the bottom of the old pit. How stupid. I never liked it.

_...the crane and turtle slipped._

Why would Daikon write down that song? Was that a new kind of special code I hadn't been informed about?

_Atsushi Kimishita..._

Suddenly, my heart sank.

I read that same line twice. Maybe thrice. Why there was _just my name_ on it? A prank? Or did Daikon intend to give that thing only to me all along?

I knew what would come next.

_Who is behind you now?_

I felt the urge to spun around. But I didn't. Whilst goosebumps plucked my nerves, I told myself it was just a childish joke. And I wasn't idiotic enough to fall for it. If I analyzed it rationally, it was like that: why would've Daikon insisted so much, repeatedly asking me to open it otherwise?

I shook my head, unbelievable. For a moment—

When I looked up again, the homeroom teacher was gone.

When had he…

My eyes unconsciously shifted to the door. It was closed. And as much as I wished to believe I had just been in a temporary daze for ten consistent minutes, I also knew I'd have heard its sliding sound… or the voice of Abe-sensei excusing himself out.

My pulse accelerated.

What was happening?

I swallowed a hard lump of saliva, staggering and blindly reaching out for my schoolbag. It was so stupid that it was getting on me so easily!

I didn't turn. Squeezing my eyes shut I walked to the door, trying not to bump on desks and chairs on my way.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to pull the white frame open.

 _It's unlocked!_ I thought.

It's still strange to describe the sensation that washed over me in that split second. Something between jitteriness and… anxiety. For some reason, a part of me was still screaming at me to turn. That I'd regret it if I didn't.

For the third time, though, I ignored my head and followed what instinct told me.

_Get out._

As soon as these words formed in my mind I sprinted off.

_Get out._

That thought continued to boom in my head non-stop like heavy rain all the way to the entrance.

 

* * *

 

Rain was also what I found pouring on the streets and on me when I left the building. The smell of soil and wet grass filled my nostrils together with the thickness of humidity as I run. The sky was ridden with dark clouds and my thoughts full of a sole question:

_What was that?_

_What was that?_

_What was that?_

Nothing. I was just tired. That must have been it.

My lungs felt on fire. I must've seemed crazy, running like that, like a fox chased by hunting dogs. The blurred pictures of black trees skirting the road in the corner of my eyes didn’t help lifting the tension, which kept thrumming in my ears alongside the splashing sound of my feet hitting puddles and the dull pit-pat of rain in my face.

After a good ten minutes my legs stung so much I had to stop. With both hands on my knees and bent over I tried to catch my breath again; literally gasping for air.

Was in that moment that my sight casually fell on another figure skidding on the wet street on a kick scooter not too far ahead. Despite struggling to keep my lids open due to the copious rain that had become thicker, I recognized him.

It was Daikon. He skated past a couple of people that yelled something after him and crossed a railroad. I followed him for a while - still panting - until the white and too-big shirt he sported went off sight among a bunch of shrubs.

I felt anger boiling in my veins. That stupid trickster! The fact he was there could mean just one thing… that he had stayed behind and maybe waited to watch my reaction as I retrieved the note. I didn’t think he was _that much of a jerk._ Neither one that could pull such detailed jokes knowing exactly when and how to strike. But that was irrelevant.

Without thinking twice, I went for the chase.

Daikon zigzagged around the alleys, slipping into one street and popping out from another, forming confused beelines I struggled to catch on. It was maddening and weird, it seemed almost as if he was aware of my presence. Not that I was trying to hide it, anyway; still, the copious rain and the fact we weren't alone should've guaranteed me enough coverage to at least reach him.

The more I run after him, the more my legs felt heavy. I kept staggering and stumbling until the street under my feet became sloshing mud. At some point I found myself grabbing a bunch of weeds to keep balance. I was climbing a little hill and didn't even know how or when I had reached it. The typical buzzing of the busy neighborhood had muted.  Now the quiet rustling of wild foliage tickled my ears accompanied by incessant rain.

For as long as I had lived in Tokyo, not even once had I seen the patch of thickets twisting through that hillock. Where… was Daikon?

And… how did I end up there?

My skin crawled. My legs stopped moving. The desire… want… to spin around and run at home seized a heart already corralled with anger, anxiety, worry and… fear.

But because I was terrorized, not a single muscle in my body responded to the command. It seemed like one of these clichéd books in which the protagonist is suddenly uprooted from his normal, quiet life to be flung into some unnatural, crazy quest. Something laughable. Something I didn't believe… so why? Why my mind couldn't find any rational explanation and my every thought was floundering toward that end?

My hands trembled, and while I looked at them, my vision started blurring out of frustration. I gulped down the knot in my throat several times unsuccessfully, trying to ignore the fact that, at that moment, I was nothing more than a brat on the verge of tears.

A thunder crackled in the distance and simultaneously I crouched on the ground, clutching my head between hands. Pathetic. I wanted to grow up so badly, but in the end, all I could do was... cowering.

 _Dad_.

While that word echoed in my mind like a broken record, simultaneously, it overlapped with the sound of my ashamed conscience.

_Sorry. Sorry for calling out for you._

_Steel yourself_ , the teacher had said. Cool words. Right even, but… they had come with no instructions. How was I supposed to overcome fear when it was eating me alive?

The sound of something abruptly hitting the ground startled me on my feet. When I looked in the same direction to parse what had happened; Daikon’s kick scooter was laying there, amidst the ferns. One of its little wheels still spinning as though someone had just got off it.

I stared at the toy wide eyed for a couple of seconds before realizing what had truly transpired.

He was there! That son of a…

“Oi!” I shouted after the void, all the prior fury penting up again like a rekindled fire pit. “Wait!” I didn't even know in which direction he'd disappeared to, but I moved anyway, even if just to forget my cowardice for a second. In my elated hunt I slipped twice on the wet grass - teeth bared and balled fists - but this time I didn't yield. The thunderstorm growled in the sky, a bunch of threatening, dark clouds seemed to eye me from afar like the muzzle of a fierce dragon about to open its jaws.

I slowed down just to catch my breath again, while glancing around to decipher where I was.

All around there was nothing but tall, spectral evergreens which I had never seen. How far that place extended? For how long had I been running aimlessly? How… did I get there?

“When I… find… that… jerk...I'll... kill him.” I whispered to myself. While a part of me was conscious that I was being stupid for chasing that kid for pulling a prank on me and that my promise to Abe-sensei went up in smoke after not even a hour; another side of me encouraged revenge. I was a prideful brat. One that rarely just looked the other way when provoked. Let's say never.

As I was about to turn around and change path, the unmistakable head of Daikon popped out from behind a tree. He threw a glance behind, adjusting the round specs on the bridge of his nose with a finger, and when the moment came, that it seemed like our gazes latched…his eyes moved immediately sideways. He ignored my presence.

Completely!

It was impossible that I hadn't be seen. I was standing right behind him and he'd just looked me in the eyes! He was doing that on purpose!

My arms and shoulders shook with anger.

We started moving as one. As I jumped forward, he stepped out the greenery at once… and I landed on my fours, in the grime and with a loud splash; losing the backpack slung on my shoulder in the process. Most of its content ended up scattered around like rubble.

For a long time my eyes stayed fixated on the roily puddle under me, the reflection in it was something I craved to punch even more than Daikon himself. What I saw was a piteous kid covered in plasters; drenched from head to toe and with a face so crumpled even an idiot would’ve understood he was refraining from welling up. I hated that me. I couldn’t stand that me. So, I raised a hand with the clear intent to hit the small pool but just when I was about to do it, something else mirrored in the corner of the same ring of water caught my attention.

“W… what…”  Alarmed, my gaze shot up. Daikon was standing on the rim of a well, his head hung and shoulders sagged.

“Oi!” I called once. What was all that farce about? Did he start losing it? It was raining so hard I struggled once again to keep my eyes open.

“Daikon!” I called twice and as I rose on my knees, a nauseating sensation hit my guts like a wave, followed by the kind of light-headedness that precedes an earthquake.

It happened in a second.

The kid in front of me turned slightly over his shoulder. His lips moved to say something I didn't entirely get.

And jumped.

He jumped.

He jumped.

He jumped.

Jumped.

_Jumped._

Terror. Anxiety. My head spun uncontrollably. My mouth opened slightly, my eyes fixed on the well, wide and spellbound with the only certainty that I was now… alone.

The sound of the rain tapping on leaves and ground, the thunders roaring in the distance... I couldn’t hear any of them. In that moment just my heart beating fast and loud in my ears was strong enough to keep me from screaming.

Dead…

Was…

He was…

“Dai...kon?” I managed just that, in a strangled whisper.

_Run._

I felt _that urge_ climbing the walls of my subconscious again.

_Atsushi run._

I knew I should. I should call for help. Call for adults. Call my father who probably was worried.

I should have never, never, never followed Daikon that day.

If I had ignored that scrap of paper, if I hadn’t got into a fight, If I had gone straight home, If I wasn’t that much of a coward...

Would things have changed?

The truth is, I knew what Daikon had said before jumping into the well.

I hadn’t understood his words at first, but one after another… they all fit together in the end.

I was trembling like a dry leaf, my throat was parched, confusion embraced my every thought.

Slowly…

Slowly…

Slowly I finally did what I had ignored until then.

I turned.

I turned and our eyes met.

He was so near I could see my own frightened expression reflected in his rufescent irises. They almost glowed, so much dark were the shadows around.

All he did, was raising a hand in front of his face. A hand that held a single, muddy coin in between two long, pale fingers.

100 yen.

And the words that left his mouth later just confirmed my greatest fear.

“I was waiting for you, _Kimishita Atsushi_.”


	2. Purpose x Reason

“I was waiting for you, _Kimishita Atsushi_ ,” he spelled out my name marking each single syllable with an edge to his voice, which sounded elated, the sing-song kind of timbre kids use when they win a game.

My chest was full of air that I couldn’t breathe out. It ached like those nightmares where you find yourself underwater; there’s a heavy pressure on your lungs, and the more you struggle to reach the surface, the more it seems afar. The sensation that heaving out even the barest whisper could end my life any second now, paralyzed me.

Even if that person was sitting on his heels, the way he crept on me - how his spine was curving - suggested he was far taller than the actual position gave out. To be honest, from my point of view he appeared _huge_ and partly because of that, I felt almost quashed by his presence alone.

At first, he kept staring at me with a triumphant smirk painted on his face, which gradually faded the longer I didn’t show any reaction. In the end, he stood up, watching me from above as if I were a broken toy. Crossing his arms, the man spat on the ground. “Why isn’t he kowtowing nor begging for salvation?” He asked, but his gaze wasn’t aiming at me anymore. He was staring at something far beyond me, behind me.

I didn’t even process that the rain had finally diluted in a lazy drizzle, now quietly pattering on the ground, on my shoulders, on my head. I came back to reality just when the stranger moved with ample, agitated strides; stirring the muddy water under his feet in loud plashes. Despite the season, his breezing past me made cold seep into my bones as if until that moment I had been forced to kneel in a raging blizzard. And all at once every muscle in my body suddenly loosened, forcing me to slump on my hands and fight for breath; agape and stumped.

“You brought me garbage again! Die! Die! Die!”

“Forgi—ve m—e, m’ lord! I swear to—”

The loud voices at my back were mixed with the dull thud of something hitting a soft surface, similar to when homemakers lay their futons out the window and beat dust away from the mattress. I knew that would’ve been the perfect occasion to run away, but the pained shrill of Daikon voice urged me to spin on my knees like an arrow.

The first thing I thought, caught off guard, was that I was probably hallucinating or that I might be living a nightmare. Under that man’s right foot, lay none other than my classmate; the same I had seen jumping into the well a few minutes before. However, what startled me more was the ferocity with which the taller one pounced on the kid without a care in the world.

Daikon was gritting his teeth with his cheek gradually sinking in the dirt, the sound of his anguished tentatively held back yelps thrummed in my ears like a plea.

That was it.

My legs moved before I had the chance to back off, hurried and fueled just by a sense of innocent camaraderie that little shit didn’t even deserve, but that back then was probably part of my little cheap ideal of justice. I wasn’t so stupid as to throw myself in the jaws of peril and take what seemed the guy’s punishment on me.

I was scared.

I was so scared my fingers shook as I quickly reached for the sturdiest rock I could find at hand and placed it on the ground in front of me.

I knew I could still slip out that mess; it’d have been easy. All I had to do was run. Momentarily leave Daikon at his destiny and call for help. That option was surely the safest for me, but for him? I took a deep breath. Focusing had become hard, and I could barely keep my eyes trained on the bad guy all the while I charged… and kicked.

It happened fast, the stone cut through the air with a whistle and hit right home; getting a bull's eye in the man’s right temple without issues. It hit him, yes. Like a mere… spitball.

The tall creep turned over me, concurrently feeling the side of his head as if a mosquito had just bit him in that spot. His eyes narrowed. No blood. No wounds. Nothing. The rock had just bounced on his head as if had met a consistency even harder than itself.

What… Was… Happening?

I had kicked with all my strength, of that I was sure. So, why hadn’t it worked?

I started to back away, eyeing both Daikon and the other while shaking my head, incredulous and stunned. Both were looking at me, and the latter wore an expression more frightened than the one I almost certainly was showing in turn. Our eyes met for a fraction, and he climbed to his feet, staggering and besmirched. “Fool! What have you done?!” He shouted, walking briskly toward me with a limp that made me wonder how could he be standing straight without feeling pain. Grabbing the collar of my shirt, he yanked me against him. He was so painfully near I could smell something akin to sulfur in his breath. “This is, M'lord… a misunderstanding,” he started, voice shaking and hushed; like the timbre one uses with particularly uncooperative animals when they’re especially nervous. “This… this dirty urchin must be inebriated, in fact, I’m confident he was aiming at me just to shine in your eyes!” he continued, intermittently turning over his shoulder to apparently reassure his own malefactor… or maybe himself.

What was he babbling about?

I did not understand.

I kept looking at him, from head to toe, disconcerted as never before. There was no mistaking, he was the same kid I had seen dying and also the one who had been beaten like the worst scum in front of my eyes. The fresh bruises on his sticky arms and legs were the proof I hadn’t turned mad. However, he was calling that other shady man his Lord and used a formal and archaic language, submissive and pitiful. Like that of a… servant.

While I was desperately trying to find some sense in what evidently didn’t make a bit, the other hand of Daikon flew on my head, trying to push it down for some reason. I resisted the pressure, glaring at him. “What are you doing?!” I queried, definitely overcome by anger and frustration.

“Just bow your head and beg for forgiveness, brat. Do that if you don’t want to end up in a grave so young.” He muttered, miffed as if I was unreasonable. Now, that was ridiculous. I surely hadn’t expected words of gratitude for saving his neck, but being told to be sorry for that?! Was he kidding or what?

If that was a joke, it was going too far.

“Let go!” I slapped his hand, furious and done for. “You’re crazy!” My voice came out in ragged intakes of breath, so sharp and fast I didn’t have time to swallow. “What’s this? This sick game… Is this your doing? The message, the fact that I followed you here… Was it a trap? Tell me!” My hunger for replies, pointed replies, was so intense and desperate that I grabbed his shoulders with all the strength I had, shaking him. At that point it was clear that something was off, that Daikon was suffering from some mental disease and had just lured me into that twisted world for fun. But again, how could he be still alive?

“Calm down you stupid kid! Else—"

A gravelly, deep laugh exploded a few yards ahead, and Daikon seemed to shrink as soon as it boomed out, shutting up immediately.

“You might look a sharp one, but you’re nothing but a stupid living being!” Dramatically, the villain approached us again and when his last step halted in Daikon’s vicinity, his gaze drifted to him for less than a second - bored and almost disgusted. “Out of my way,” he breathed. Monotone and passionless, the tall man peeled the other kid off of me and unceremoniously pushed him on the ground like garbage, stealing his place in front of me. Once again, the chilling sensation that had overwhelmed me before invested me in an instant. He was intimidating just for the fact that didn’t hide the evident contempt and prepotency carved into his eyes. A pair of deep irises that seemed burned earth drenched in blood, like the unruly shock of hair on his head, which this time, differently from before, was tamed under the traditional black headgear typical of fishermen. I had just glimpsed it because I didn’t dare look elsewhere but right into his eyes, but all his attire - from the hat to the coat - was too strange for the era we lived in. Was he a cosplayer? Some of those history maniacs that played Dungeons and Dragons or stuff like that? I wasn’t particularly well-versed on that subject, but hanging out with Sho all those years had somehow rubbed some of his knowledge off on me unwillingly.

“What clan are you from?” He asked, checking me over as though trying to guess something from that.

“Clan?” I repeated, feeling like fooled by a feint. What was he talking about? Maybe, he was part of a strange group of fantasy devotees, and that was some kind of initiation? Perhaps, the word ‘clan’ identified his similars.

“Are you stupid or deaf?!” All at once, his apparent unperturbed façade crumbled into an outraged grimace. “What house do you belong to?” He advanced a few steps, and at each, his face moved nearer and nearer. “Who’s your damn lord?” Also, his accent had changed, slipping into an almost incomprehensible slur.

The more he leaned over me, the more I shrunk from him; confused and progressively pissed off. Until I snapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you creepy old fart!” I snarled in his face, something that made the man’s angry eyes shot open and wide, surprised.

Out of the corner of my vision, I noticed Daikon, still, on the ground, waving his hands in front of his face while energetically shaking the head.

“How...dare...you...little...lice…” the creep's shoulders quivered furiously and his eyes slowly narrowed. “How dare you talk to me like that? Do you have the slightest idea of who I am and what you are doing here, in my presence?” He hissed.

“All I know is that you’re imputable for multiple crimes and seem high on drugs,” I replied honestly. And at that, the shady character seemed to suddenly freeze. All the color drained from the man's face, and he took a step back. “Who… told you?” He asked.

“Nobody. It’s just evident! You hit a kid in front of me, threatened to kill him and even know my name! Isn’t that enough?!” He probably had bribed Daikon to tell him and certainly he was the real orchestrator behind that farce. I had to find a way to escape and take Daikon with me. Maybe the other kid had been drugged and was behaving funnily because of that.

All I received as a reply, was the echo of a belly laugh that threw me off for good. At that point, I didn’t know what to think anymore. I was utterly baffled and offended, and I bet it was reflecting on my expression because, after that, all the words left in my mouth disappeared with the next swallow.

He was not just a freak, but completely insane!

“You hear him? He thinks you’re a kid!” His laughter slowly faded, and the man turned sharply toward the boy still on the ground, pointing the finger at me. “What did you bring me, you stupid raccoon? This child can’t even recognize a tanuki!”

I felt the world literally spinning under my feet. Had that guy actually said what I thought he had? Or… This time was I having auditory hallucinations? Slowly I gazed in Daikon’s direction, blinking once, twice; but the swiveling, striped tail on the kid’s butt didn’t disappear either when I squeezed my eyes for the third time.

The kid… or… Spirit… Or… Whatever it was, clapped his hands together in a sign of excuse.

My sight blurred.

I was nauseated. I wanted to shout, but my legs felt like frail twigs ready to break any second now.

Finally, after resisting the urge for minutes, hours or who knows how long had passed… I gave up and fainted.

With a loud thud.

Because my level of anxiety, emotions, and incredulity had reached the zenith and I couldn’t take it anymore.

 

* * *

 

_...shi._

“Atsushi.”

My head felt heavy and padded and the voice that called my name so distant, I thought it was a dream. When I came to again and tried to pry my eyes open, it hurt. The lids seemed glued together, and an acute sense of nausea hit my stomach like a punch. The first thing that became evident, when I managed to finally focus on my surroundings, was the ceiling of my room.

Nearby, the soothing dripping of water being squeezed in a bowl threatened to lull me back to sleep. And I was about to drift off when a cold cloth was gently deposited on my forehead.

“Guess who cooked your miso soup cutting the actual tofu and not his fingers this time?” When that merry-go-round and reassuring voice resounded in the room, for some reason, I felt like crying. Effectively, my eyes were watering but apparently for another reason.

I turned slightly to my right, where the face of that ever smiling man finally entered my line of sight.

“...Dad?” I called, and as soon as I did that, his smile grew wider. “Exacto, my boy. Your father did! Someone should give me a cockade, or maybe even a Nobel prize. Am I or am I not the best parent in the world? There’s also another surprise in the kitchen. A kotatsu!”

I stared at him without saying a word, merely enjoying his usual stream of consciousness as it came. It was true, he was bizarre and embarrassing in more ways than just one and when he acted like a doting father these two characteristics bloated exponentially.

“It’s…” I started, but as if reading my mind; he cut me off.

“It’s summer, I know. I know. But you’ve got a high fever, and I know I shouldn’t say it, but it’s the only time I can pamper you as much as I want and rare as it is… since I always dreamed of taking a pic of my adorable son falling asleep under the big and fluffy covers of that table and we never had one before—”

Alas, his head was rattling off its hinges again; lost in its creepy fatherly fantasies. Because of that, I exploited his momentary delirous state to finally sit up on the futon with the clear intention to slip out of it. It was true that I was feverish, but it was also accurate to say that he had a job and couldn’t lose time babysitting me while I could perfectly take care of myself.

As I uncovered, another hand grabbed the corner of the sheet and put it back on me; pushing me down on the mattress again. Unfortunately, I was too weak to fight the iron fist of that man.

“Where do you think you’re going, my boy? Let me inform you that you’re under quarantine until I say otherwise.” I shot a dirty look at him sideways. “I’m not contagious.” I pointed out, frowning.

“Atsushi.” He called me with that wannabe warning in his voice that underlined that no matter what I said or did, his orders were law and I had to abide by them.

“Okay. I’ll stay put. Did you remember to at least take the pot off the stove before coming here?”

He stared at me, smiling, for a couple of seconds before rising from the floor and suspiciously slithering away toward the door.

“Of course.” He said, and keeping the customary curve in place, he toed open the sliding panel and slipped through it; closing it gently behind him with a soft whisper.

He didn’t do it. The scream I heard immediately after just confirmed my thesis.

I sighed, throwing a glance at the window placed near my desk. It was dusk already, and the tepid wind huffing in the room carried the unmistakable scent of passing rain. It felt good, in the lungs and against my burning skin. I could’ve fallen asleep again quickly if a particular thought didn’t snake in my mind at the same time.

Rain.

Daikon.

That hill.

A well.

The bad guy.

Tanuki.

Everything connected so fast that my head started hurting again. I held my forehead and hid under the covers. This time, the shivers running up and down my spine weren’t symptom of fever.

Had it been a dream?

Given my current location and my physical state, everything led to that conclusion. Even if a sigh of relief welled up inside my lungs, I didn’t let it out. There were still incongruences I had to cross out. Like, if it had been true that everything was a figment of my imagination… Why didn’t I remember anything but that, of what had happened from that morning onward?

On the other side, there might’ve been the possibility that I had lost consciousness back in school. It happened from time to time, especially when I was clogged with anxiety or stress, my mind used to shut off and use that blackout as a sort of defense mechanism, to free my overthinking mind from unnecessary information.

That was what the doctor had said, at least.

But then again, it usually lasted for maximum an hour; and that day I woke up with the clear signs of someone that had spent at least half a day in deep sleep. The numbness of my arms and legs, the dryness of my tongue and throat, the inexplicable fever was, above everything, my smoking gun. I had been in the rain for a long time after sweating a lot, according to my memories… Thus, it was just natural that fever would break.

If it was true, if the tanuki and that man were real, why was I in my room? How did I go back home? Did someone find me? Maybe my dad?

I crawled up in a fetal position under the covers and racked my brain over and over. It was useless. I had to find a logical explanation, else… I wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

After giving up on the burned soup and having made amends by shoving a whole box of popsicles in my hands, dad finally left my room; not before making me promise not to try anything funny like escaping my supposed quarantine or tidy up all the chaos reigning in the kitchen. He went out and brought, brokenhearted, the kotatsu with him (that he had kind of rented from a friend) this time to assure me he wouldn’t come back with useless furniture we didn’t need and that it took just too much space in our already narrow house.

Let me specify that I honestly liked my father, albeit he was weird and totally oblivious to house chores. He actually tried his best to be a single parent, but sometimes he was… Forgetful and clumsy, like, one time we had a dishwasher. A long, long time ago. When I was still four or five years old, I believe. Since he couldn’t be both a full-time father and a full-time worker, and since he had no time in his hands, one day, he experimented washing dishes and clothes in the same machine with the idea that since everything was dirty, everything would come out clean in the end. Which wasn’t an entirely erroneous theory, in a distant future where dishes and clothes would require the same product, and machines would be designed as multitasking robots. Believing and fiercely defending his ideal and ignoring my doubts, he had stuffed everything in the appliance.

It didn’t explode, fortunately. But obviously neither the dishes nor the garments came out clean from the machine, on the contrary, dad's socks had creepily tangled around the spray arms in a deathly embrace that inevitably broke the dishwasher. After that, the bad smell of detergent tabs persisted on my clothes and underwear for at least a whole week. That episode, followed by a long series of well-willed mishaps, ended up with me becoming the undiscussed guardian of the house and none other than the only one allowed to touch electro domestics until we lived in there.

Despite that, I just took it as an opportunity to halve dad's burdens and to that day, it had worked.

I spent the whole night tossing and turning in the bed, rehearsing consciously and unconsciously the gone-by day, no matter if real or not.

According to the shady, red haired man, my presence in that place had a purpose. A goal I was totally ignorant about. If Daikon was the fantastic creature he seemed (it might also have been a fake tail, I alleged after; it wasn’t so illogical that Japan could produce that kind of realistic toys. I didn’t completely discard the option, but neither ultimately accepted it as true), there was still the story of the 100 yen. It was suspiciously akin to all the legends the well near the bank were about and the fact that this one involved a well, too, made it all the fishier and reinforced the dream theory. At some point, in my agitation, I completely woke up drenched in sweat and it dawned on me that for all the thoughts I had had against the real happening of that strange sequence of events, I always tried to find a reason that could explain their veracity.

I rejected that option as true. I didn’t believe in legends, and in no way, would I ever. I had stopped falling for that trick when the source of all these stories disappeared from my house… And all the magic with them.

The following days, Kenta and Sho came by a couple of times. My fever hadn’t subsided yet, and the heat didn’t help my cause. They delivered fruits and all the kinds of pleasantries parents gift to the sick; and occasionally brought with them a plethora of video games, manga, and toys. Playing with them slowly kicked away my doubts and night after night, all my mulling over the fact had lessened significantly, and I was almost ready to let it slip from my mind.

Until a specific evening.

Kenta was lazily lying belly up on the flooring near my bed, he was holding his PSP mid-air, playing with it and engrossed in the game. Sho, sitting on my desk, with his inseparable laptop at hand was scrolling through his favorites forums; probably discussing the last episode of some anime.

I was propped against a wall; reading, when Shouichi spoke.

“Hey, look at this,” he started, his legs swung under the chair as he turned the pc toward us. Kenta and I glanced up from our own ministrations, staring at the desktop he so eagerly showed us. It was a panel of manga, in which a group of boys snickered in an old building that apparently was their secret refuge.

“What of it? What of it?” Kenta asked, abandoning the console on the floor and running toward the desk to happily stare, awed, at the black and white page. He looked like an excited puppy, from the way his dark eyes shone, showing how he excitedly welcomed every commonality as it was a novelty.

I said nothing since my interest had already waned after a glance; therefore all I did was nodding and returning to my reading.

Sho ignored my disinterest and went on with his rambling. “What about we find a hideout like this one? Wouldn’t it be super? We’d look like heroes secretly hanging in the shadows to save the world from a terrible invasion led by Frieza!” Was it Dragonball again? Or another manga?

“Don’t we already have one? You used to spend all of the time at that stupid well, dragging me along against my will. In fact, I’m surprised you’re here and not there today.” I clarified while flipping a page.

“Akkun, what are you going on about? What well?”

In that instant, my blood froze. I found myself staring blankly at the book, the fingers on the thin paper shaking slightly as I slowly gazed up. Kenta and Shouichi were both looking at each other, puzzled, and when they felt I had joined the discussion again, their eyes moved simultaneously on me, inquisitive.

“What… What do you mean with ‘what well’? That old one in front of the bank near Sakuragaoka station!” Anxious, I stood up abruptly. The book fell on the floor, and my head started spinning so much I had to lean against the wall behind me not to follow the same destiny.

“Akkun!” Kenta hurried by my side immediately, helping me to sit down again. “You’re burning up! Is your fever rising again? Should I call your dad? Akkun! Akkun!” His round eyes started welling up with bright tears. Kenta was a good kid, but sometimes, his being an indecisive worry-wart made things bigger than they were.

“No, I’m good,” I assured him, trying to calm down my nerves. However, the pain I felt in my jaw and arms was synonymous with utter failure. “It’s… it’s just the heat, I stood up too fast and had a bit of dizziness.” Kenta, kneeling in front of me, stared at me intently with his lower lip still trembling. Sho, on the other side, said nothing. He just kept regarding me from a distance, pensive.

“If you don’t feel well, we can come back tomorrow.” From his voice, he didn’t sound concerned nor particularly alarmed, but I knew he had just slipped into some new character of his.

“Can you... can you look it up on the internet?” I knew that insisting on that matter was wrong. I should’ve taken advantage of my momentary stroke and changed the topic, or sent them home to go check by myself. But my promise still weighted on my shoulders, and my father had already feigned not to see the wounds I had on my legs and face just a few days before. I couldn’t allow myself further mistakes. Sho kept his position, facing my side and looking at me for a long time. Somehow, in that instant, his gaze felt so penetrating I had to move my own toward the desktop. After that, the sound of fingers tapping on the keyboard announced me he had got my question and decided to proceed.

“Zero results.” He announced. “Here, give a look.” While Kenta’s attention ping-ponged between me and Shouichi, his expression still confused and eyes weepy, a strange sensation of wrongness and apprehension started growing inside my chest, tightening it. I felt my forehead suddenly covered in cold and hot sweat at the same time.

“You look really pale…” When Kenta’s hand landed on my forehead, I jolted slightly under the touch. I was a bundle of nerves. He retracted the limb as if the skin he felt scorched like fire and watched me with detriment in his eyes. “S...sorry.” He whispered, hanging his head.

I wanted to say something, anything, but all I did was slowly looking down instead. The well… didn't exist. It didn’t exist. It didn’t exist. It didn’t exist. It didn’t exist. It… didn't… exist, and nobody in that room had a recollection of it besides me.

A moment later, Shouichi slammed the lid of his laptop closed; this time, both me and Kenta jumped as one. “Let’s go.” He snapped. All I heard were footsteps approaching my position, but they stopped immediately when after Kenta’s yelps supplicated the other boy to let him go and wait.

Once again, I did nothing to stop them. Not even when the distinct sound of the door sliding closed reached me.

I couldn’t think straight. My heart beat so fast that I could feel the pulse against my neck. What was reality or dream anymore? Slowly, almost like a newborn deer, I crawled upon my bed, falling onto it at a dead drop. The coolness of the sheets against my face felt nice, but every other part of my body was tensed and hurt. I thought it was over and had almost forgotten everything, but everything, again, had come back at full force into my mind, thoroughly ransacking it of any other thought.

 

_How…_

_How…_

_How…?_

My gaze moved to the desk, where one sleeve of my still dirty shirt was poking from underneath a pile. Mud. There was crusted mud on it.

I slowly climbed on my elbows, staring at the fabric nonplussed. That day, I had followed Daikon on that hill. A place where I had never been or visited before. A place… That I didn't remember reaching in the first place. Was I becoming crazy? Had I imagined everything? And if so, how far back in time those delusions went?

I was about to give in to tiredness, my head ached, and I felt my face burning. I was really about to fall back on my futon… When a detail I had forgotten emerged in the back of my blurred and confused mind.

“...The… note. The note!” Without second thoughts I shot up, ignoring the dizziness the sudden movement had stirred. I approached the desk feeling the frenzied throbbing of my heart beating fast against my ribcage.

Grabbing the pants hidden under the shirt, I pulled them out, reaching into the pocket to feel its inside.

When my hand closed around a scrap of paper, something within me broke and loosened at the same time.

I extracted the note from the pocket and opened it. Some words were unreadable because the rain had smudged the ink.

Some others… they were entirely clear and looked as if… they formed a [specific message.](http://imgur.com/a/AV5bo)

“No! It… It can’t be!” I tossed the note on the floor and breathing hard, I pulled back. It was surely my mind playing stupid tricks on me, I told myself. I was feverish and overwhelmed by anxiety, as impressionable as I was at that moment, whatever, even the stupidest detail could’ve appeared out of place.

However, the paper I had felt under my fingertips was undeniably real, just as much as real seemed the contents.

“Why me?” the tight knot in my throat made talking difficult, and my words came out broken and strained. I sat on the floor, dragging my legs against my chest and hugging both my knees as tight as I could.

I didn’t remember how much I cried that day.

But how much it hurt, that _never left my memory_.


	3. Stars x Dreams

That night I had a dream.

I was in a country I’d never been to, that I couldn’t place on maps, but I recognized distant and foreign. The streets were broad and dusty, so unkempt that wild shrubs grew freely through the concrete, twisting around and climbing on old ramshackle buildings. I walked in the midst of the street without direction nor conclusively knowing where I wished to go. I remember there were two suns; one setting behind me and one rising before. They painted the sky of hot fevered orange on one side and lazy purple-blue on the other; while the space unoccupied in the center, just above my head, was immersed in a profound eternal night. I didn’t look around, nor bothered to check on my surroundings because albeit it felt unfamiliar I already knew that place. I knew, for example, that if I looked up, I’d spot the large hands of a clock hanging in the vault slowly ticketing toward the sunrise. Also, I was aware that at every step I moved forward, someone would lay out a colored cloak from the windows of the ruins. Someone that looked like me, someone that had my hair and hands, that had my same body and probably my voice as well. But he never talked to nor approached me. How did I know all of that? That question bothered me the more I moved forward in the sunrise. But why was I going in that direction?

My convictions faltered, and my stride slowed down until it stopped. The sunrise was warm and comforting, but at my back, the sun rays of the sunset tapped on my shoulders high and hot, as though asking me to turn around and choose that way.

I threw another glance at the sun in front of me, which tint was gradually changing into wheat-like glints. My eyes, however, slowly started to veer elsewhere; intermittently glancing at the other side of the street until also my feet started moving in the same direction.

But I never left that spot.

Two arms wrapped around me, tightly, from behind.

“Don’t go.” My voice reverberated in my ears, but it was so different that almost seemed someone else’s. Too soft and childish to belong to me. The beseeching timbre was a whisper. One hand caressed my hair. I couldn’t move. It was strange, strange that my teeth would chatter that way when somewhere within myself a comforting sensation - similar to when, at night, someone drapes a wool blanket on freezing shoulders - and odder was the chill that had run down my spine in the same instant.

“If you go now, you’ll change. I don’t want you to change.” The other me insisted. “Don’t change. Promise.” He kept repeating that, a dull chant that felt like a wrong lullaby.

The more I tried, the more I discovered that not only was I incapable of moving, but I was also mute. Even if my lips parted, just the act itself was slow and infinite and tiring. It was cold.

“W...hat if…” I stared at the building on the side of the road that I was facing and swallowed the lump in my throat with effort. “What… Happens… If… I listen to you?” The fuzzy and warm feeling in my chest kept spreading in its wrongness. Suddenly… Suddenly my query sounded absurd and stupid. Why would I want to change the path? I knew, after all, that the right one to take was toward the sunrise.

Then… Why?

“We’ll stay like this, the way we want to be. Forever.” The other me chuckled in my ear and fastened his hold around my waist, washing away the homely feeling I’d felt until then. That wasn’t me. That couldn’t be me. Because if there was something I rejected with all myself, it was stasis.

“I don’t want that, stupid!” Muscles, nerves, all the numbness hindering them vanished in a second when I tried to elbow him away from me. The other me stumbled backward and unclasped his grip.

When I turned, he kept his head down so that I couldn’t see his face.

“Liar.” He muttered, “liar. You’re always afraid of change. You were frightened when dad’s shop started losing money; you’re frightened each time you fall sick because you think your grades will drop. You were terrified when Sho’s family announced they had to transfer to Nagoya because his mom had a promotion. And weren’t you relieved when it happened the contrary? Didn’t you feel happy, when your friend was down? Isn’t this what makes you a loser, Atsushi? You’re so scared of change because that time—”

“Shut up!” I yelled. I screamed so loud that my voice echoed everywhere all around, bouncing on the surrounding emptiness. I glared at him, but not once did my other self look up to meet my eyes.

“I’m going to show you… just watch me.” Now it was my turn to bow my head, like in a mirror. The edges of my shoulders shook miserably. I could feel the iron-like taste of chipped skin in my mouth. Sharply, without adding another word, I turned away, taking the opposite path.

“You’re too scared, even to face me! Yourself! That’s why I can’t look at you! You’ll regret it! You’ll regret it! You’ll regret it!”

His voice kept following me from behind, reverberating and echoing until my eyes snapped open to reality.

When I woke up, I was drenched in sweat. My eyes felt puffy and cotton-like as if I had been sleeping for ages. When I turned, on the floor, next to me, there was a different bowl filled with water and nearby, laid a cup of instant ramen with a sticky note trapped under the chopsticks placed on top of the box. My father had doodled a smiling noodle that suggested me I had to eat the thing before it turned cold. Below that, there was a post scriptum: _I’ll be at the Ota’s house until ten. If you don’t feel well call me there. Dad. Emoticon. Emoticon. Emoticon_.

I removed the note from the cup and started eating it while staring at the memo, smiling wryly. I had done it again. Making my father worry over a stupid nothing. Wasn’t I a useless son?

Slurping the last noodle, I forced myself up to my feet, walked a small distance and turned to the other note, Daikon’s note, that was still on the floor, all crumpled, near the desk.

“Why _me_?” I asked to the void, again. However, even if I was scared, confused and skeptical; some things were clear: crying was useless and barricading in the house was as much as stupid. Even if I were to start a goose chase, it would have been infinitely better than that.

I looked at the clock hung on the wall, ironically, as the dream; just above my head. Time read 8.40 p.m., so it meant that I had slept in all day. I had pathetically cried myself to sleep, more specifically.

I hadn’t any clue of what I was supposed to do, or if the message was actually a message and what night of dawn meant. Maybe nothing. But if I had to follow that senseless instructions, the only logical response was probably abandoning any of it and just act on instinct. My dream had been preposterous enough to come in handy. So, since in my fantasy I had chosen the path that went towards the sunset, I had to go out in the time span that corresponded to that half of the clock’s face.

My fingers trembled against the cup of ramen while I placed it on the desk and bent down to pick up the note, frowning at it. My face felt still warm but not excessively hot anymore. If I managed to slip out the house while my father was still away, there might be still the chance he wouldn’t notice my disappearance… but I’d wind up breaking another promise. First that to Abe-sensei, and then, the one I made to dad. On top of that, the idea of playing the impromptu detective didn’t appeal to me one bit. On the contrary, it was scary, risky; but something I had to do. If I wanted to put the word end to that unbelievable turn of events, I had to search for the root of all problems: the shady man with the red hair.

I put on some clothes and left the house, bringing both Daikon’s and dad’s notes with me.  
  


* * *

 

 

In spite of the season, that evening was chilly. At least for me. I had sneaked out wearing the same, dirty clothes of three days before and having been in a humid room for many hours in a row they were still sticky and damp. I rustled in my pockets to find the portable flashlight I kept on my keychain just in case - one of those cheap, dumb waste of merchandise Sho brought back from his expeditions to the Comiket, that for once had resulted in something useful - but didn’t turn it on yet. Not there. It wasn’t that dark, plus, a ten years old kid that wandered in the streets past curfew might have attracted unwanted attention from someone of the security patrol; and that was the last thing I needed.

Circumspect, almost like a thief, I threaded the longest patch of street with my nose stuck in the collar of my shirt, the latter pulled over my head to keep my face the least recognizable as possible. Which was technically stupid, because I would’ve surely shuttled away more freely and undisturbed without the extra gimmicks, but anxiety was biting at my calves and paranoia was gobbling me whole.

I reached the crossroad just past the railroad… And from that point onward, like the last time, something switched off. A few seconds later my hands were digging the ground in search of balance.

The Hill.

Even the gust of wind that whistled through my hair felt off pitch.

That sensation of wrongness mixed with constant alert turned the fast breezing of a woozy sparrow into a menacing ambuscade. I threw myself on the ground and covered my head in a tentative maneuver of self-defense, my heart hammering so wildly that it seemed about to drop on the ground under me. It was just a bird, I told myself. There was nobody. Neither on top nor near me. _Get a hold of yourself, you panicky piss pot! You decided to come here.You finish what you’ve started,_ I thought. This time I couldn’t allow terror to best my self-control. However… It was easier said than done. Even there, groveling in the dirt, the sensation of being chased or observed didn’t fade, if anything, it grew stronger. I was the dumb protagonist of a horror movie, returning to the crime scene just to increase its popularity and ends up underground with the words _here rests the soul of our beloved recidivist_ engraved on his headstone. If that man were going to kidnap or kill me, it would just serve me right. It was either that or living the rest of my life in constant fear of the unknown. With that in mind, I climbed on my feet and continued the escalate, turning the flashlight on along the way. At my feet, massive and gnarled roots emerged from the soil, twisted in a way that made them resemble mythological creatures frozen in time in the midst of a battle. Peculiarly, while I weaved my way amongst them; I noticed that those that sprouted closer to the well’s location had crimson barks and autumn-coated fronds. Also the sound under my feet changed into the crunchy-like one typical of when one steps onto dried leaves.

Soon, under my gaze run an expanse of red foliage that seemed a carpet of blood. It wasn't anywhere; it formed a particular path toward one single end: the well.

Swallowing, I followed it until I reached the borderline between the forest and the open space hosting the source of my fear.

I stopped, breathing in and out slowly and finally decided to break cover.

I immediately pointed the flashlight toward the well. However, it was empty. I checked my surroundings, in the same manner, scanning the whole area centimeter per centimeter.

Nobody came out.

Nobody called my name, this time.

I stood there, staring at the well intently. According to the makeshift legends, even during the old times - from what I’d heard - the malignant had inhabited that stack of stones; thus, rationally, if I went near the rim and leaned over it…

That was crazy. Which person right in his mind would purposely stick his nose in a well at night? Not me, obviously. But something, something told me that maybe that was the easiest way to find out if what I’d seen was true or not. For that reason, I played along.

“ **Oh** _God_. **Oh** _god_.” I wasn’t a good actor, perhaps the worst ever, thus, accordingly I never took part - or to better say, I never actually got picked -  in class recitals or whatsoever during the Cultural Festivals. My voice was dull, ineffective and boring. But as long as I was alone and nobody I knew heard me, it was okay. I wouldn’t embarrass myself more than required. “I wonder if **I should look into this scary and dark place**. What if **someone** comes out? **Oh** god. **Oh** god. Help. Help. Ah. Help. Ah.” I approached the well warily, keeping in check my surroundings and trying to focus on the smallest rumor.

“ **Oh** my god, **oh** my god. I’m about to look into the well… **So** scary… **So** scary.” I continued, raising on my tiptoes to reach the border of the waterhole.

Just when I was about to look inside, something moved behind me. Chills started creeping up my spine, and my skin crawled. My survival instincts prevailed, and I ran fast; launching myself on my right. In that split second, a splash, followed by a string of curses and words in a language I didn’t understand echoed in the pit of the well so loud and angered that my whole body shuddered twice as hard.

Quickly, I slithered on the ground and away from the heap of stones, but as soon as I rolled on my back to get on my feet, a substantial, stronger body assailed me, crushing all the air from my lungs and holding my arms firmly against the ground. I let out a muted scream, my lips opened, but nothing, nothing except a sharp exhale came out from them. Droplets of water fell on my face as I stared, stunned and frightened, at the same man I’d met in the same place not many days before. His gaze shone beneath sharp and narrowed slits, frenzied and irritated he looked down at me as though wishing to slither my throat. “How dare you, _again_?” He whispered, this time there was no hat on his head; the spits of fire that were his hair fell flat and wet on the right side of his face. He growled. “ _You’re lucky I need you, kid_ … _else_ …”

He moved a single finger against my face; I followed the gesture filled with increasing fright until the side of his index was aligned to my jugular, mimicking the trajectory a knife would’ve probably designed on my neck. A single drop of sweat fell from my brow - mixing with those the man above me lost in turn - while I uselessly gasped for breath.

“M’ Lord! Stop! We needn’t the boy terrorized again, I beg of you, calm down!” I recognized Daikon in that shout, yes, it was his voice. A shred of relief traversed my quivering body. However, I couldn’t peel my eyes off the man who was still glaring at my face and straddling me, feeling that if I so dared to veer away, it’d be the end of me in a second. All the same, he didn’t show any signs of wanting to listen; he opened his hand wholly, wrapping his fingers, one by one, around my neck. He didn’t tighten the grasp, though, staring down at me for an indefinite quantity of time, then at his hand, until he pulled away with a groan and bucked off, leaving me spread-eagled on the ground and gaping at the starless sky above me. I raised a palm to my neck, it scorched where the man had touched it.

“And you, raccoon, know your place! I receive orders from nobody!” His voice, grave and sulky, thundered in the silence next to me and a strangled squeak followed soon after. When I turned in their direction, the wispy tail of an animal was hanging from the closed fist of the red-haired man, and attached to it was a little raccoon flailing in a groundless escape attempt.

Was that…

“D...a...ikon?” I failed at not verbally expressing my surprise, and when I noticed I had attracted their attention again, both my palms instantaneously covered my mouth, albeit it was too late.

“He’s slow,” the tall man said, leveling an unconvinced look at me. “Are you sure he’s the right one?” The tanuki, or whatever it was, nodded energetically still upside down, and still upside down crossed his little paws like a human being would’ve done, clearing his throat. “You assessed it yourself, m'Lord, he’s quite sharp for his age if he managed to sense your pre—” but the spirit backpedaled immediately as soon as he spotted the darkening glare in his master’s eyes, shrinking in his minute, furry countenance. In all of that, I was still lying on the ground, confused and stunned, but more than anything irked by the second.

The right one? He’d chosen me? What in the hell were they talking about? And did that old blowhard just call me slow?

I had just sat up when the man approached me again, the raccoon still dangling in his hand. “Since it seems you’re not going to faint on me this time, you could as well reply to my questions. Keep it quick and short, call me venerable or something when you refer to me and don’t look at me in the eyes.” The devil let out an intolerant sniff and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. In my short ten years of life, I had never seen someone more arrogant and irritating than that person. Every word he let out underlined that all things were owed to him, the canonical, unmistakable quintessence of a spoiled fat cat.

With blood boiling in my vessels, I framed Daikon. “What are you and what do you want with me?” I asked, trying to keep my irritation at bay. The raccoon gawked at me, starting to writhe in pain immediately after because the hand that seized him squeezed his tail harder than before. “F-for the Lord's sake! Don’t ignore him, Akkun! He’ll kill me!”

“Don’t call me like that, you’re not my friend.” I pointed out, totally unfazed. Why should I care about his life? The only time I tried to save him, he told me to bow my head. “And give me a reply. What was that note about? What’s the night of dawn and why did you drag me here that day?” I could feel it, the hot, piercing irises of the evil doer watching me from above. But in no way I returned his gaze, as never would I bow, be commanded or even submit to someone. Let alone a guy that had almost strangled me.

My response never came. In fact, the man bristled at my refusal to give him audience and flung the other creature away, stomping nearer. “I understand!” he announced theatrically, upending his head backward and carding a hand through messy hair. “That is a typical reaction. Before my immensity, living beings fall speechless! You see? I, the magnanimous ruler of this land, no, world… no, the whole universe, will forgive your timidity. So now talk, you disgraced child. Tell me who's the lord that forces you into misery. For I've powers that can transform your fate into a fabled dream!”

I watched him as if in front of me walked - back and forth - the leading actor of a third category movie. I was completely depleted of words. I had been a fool for dreading such an… Idiot! “Can you stop calling me miserable? ‘Cause I'm not!” I shot back, not less irritated than before. “I don't understand whose lords you're talking about, but I have none! And aren't you a bit too old to behave like a crazy chuunibyou?!”  At that point, without realizing it, I had strode up to him, standing straight and flared up like an angry Lilliputian against a titanic Gulliver.

“Chu… Ch… chuni… What?” He responded, puzzled and enough taken aback for me to continue. “It means you're mad!” I explained,  mad as well, but in a different way. “Fabled dream? Powers?! Who are you?”

I didn't notice the suspect glint in the strange man’s eyes before, but as soon as he leaned forward, it became apparent that he was glad that I'd asked and I regretted my question immediately.

“Who am I? I see you must be one of those ignorant travelers coming from the west. Otherwise, you'd know that in front of you, plebeian, lies none other than the soul monger!” He waggled a finger in front of my face. “No! Not a common one! I'm the most powerful and smart! Now let's trade, child. If you form a contract with me, the genius of the hereafter, I'll put you out of your misery and make you the richest man among the richest!”

Now, that was undoubtedly one hell of a door-to-door vendor. I had seen many before, but never one so enthusiastic about his job. Now that I thought about it, it made sense. The lord he was referring to was probably my dad, and he lured me, the son, because magic and legends quickly convince kids. Shouldn't he be denounced for that?

However, knowing how hard the world of marketing was, full of sharks and competition and being - somehow - a fellow retailer (my dad was, but sometimes I helped in the shop too) I decided to listen to him.

“Rich? How?” I feigned naivety and stepped back enough to give him some stage.

Hearing my curiosity, the man showed a broad grin, the whiteness of his teeth shining against the weak moon rays.

“It's simple.” His index started wheeling around, drawing invisible concentric circles in the air. After the third time, he pushed forward, and his hand disappeared as if he'd inserted it into some ethereal drawer.

What kind of trick was that? Okay. I had to recognize the tanuki as a sort of magical being. I couldn't lie in front of the evidence. But, that was just cheap juggling… or so I thought.

Whatever it was, it evidently worked. My mouth was hanging open at how that being had eked out a pile of paper from thin air like a sort of overgrown Doraemon. The sensation that traversed my chest in that split second was the same I'd felt when my father had brought me to the Circus for the first and last time when I was four. Giddiness and heat spread to my cheeks from excitement. “Here.” The magical vendor handed me the stack of papers, evidently amused by my apparent trance.

Noticing his mocking smirk, I snapped out of it, snatching the thing without even thinking and burying my face behind it, burning with shame.

“I wasn't… impressed or anything… it's just the first time I see that trick, and I was confused.” I stammered, feeling the urge to point out something that the other might've misunderstood.

From the looks of it, when I regarded him again, he didn't seem that much interested in my reaction as he was to what I was holding in my hands. So, incited by his hard staring at it, I started perusing the contents of the papers… of which I didn't understand a single word. The swirly, hyper precise handwriting that seemed written by an amanuensis contained characters I'd never seen; surely it wasn't Japanese; but didn't look like any other language known in this world. There were also some drawings that looked like iconography. Under a sphere encircled by light, on one page, there were prostrated people with chains around their ankles, and next to it a big fat Taurus run over a luscious rice field. In next the page, the same animal was scrawny and thin and sauntered on the drained paddy.

When I reached the last page, my heart stopped.

The final representation had two suns, respectively dawning and rising from different horizons. There was a clock above them, painted upon a black, treacherous sky.

And… in the midst of it… there was… me.

It was impossible that the guy knew about my dream since I've had it that night.

Slowly, I raised my head again, with a new awareness tightening in my chest.

“Who are… you?” I asked again; this time words almost failed me, trembling on my tongue.

The red haired man looked bored. Exasperated by my palpable and genuine callowness, in the end, he gave up.

“Does the word shichifukujin say anything to you?”

Of course. Of course, it did. But who could believe that?

“You're telling me… that you're one of the gods of luck?” I asked.

“Humans give me many names. I've been called a demon, a God, a Saint. We prefer soul mongers. The last time I walked into this world, my name was… I don’t remember that, but it’s true that I'm holy and bring wealth.”

If by any chance what he said was true. If truly I had stumbled into a divinity and he was a sort of money dispenser, maybe I could ask him to make it so that all dad’s debts disappeared? Bullshit. I looked at him intently. Why would someone like a God or whatever he was, choose me, kid, out of everyone? Didn't spirits often chase preys that could bring a sort of profit? He called himself a soul monger… What did I have that he'd take in exchange for fortune? My soul? Would he enslave me? There were human beings with chains at their calves in that paper!

“No thanks.” I pushed the contract in his hands. “It smells like a scam. I may be poor but not stupid.”

The soul trader looked down at his rejected offer without - of course - taking it. “You don't understand, child.” He sneered, throwing at me a narrow-eyed glance. “I, the great, has chosen you. I'm not giving you an option. You must accept.” Having said so, he pushed the papers to my chest again. “Take that. Spit on it and let's form a contract. Quick.”

Spit? What kind of agreement required saliva as a seal? I could’ve understood blood or even a basic signature… but... spit?

“I said no, thanks.” I insisted, refusing the papers again.

“And I said you have no choice!” He went on. It was useless, we spent a good fifteen minutes playing dodgeball with that stupid contract, relentlessly, until Daikon, that had been missing and had just come back from his short flight into the woods, spoke.

“My lord. Akkun-” He popped in between the God and me, causing the contract to fall on the ground.

“What do you want?!” We growled as one, turning sharply versus the raccoon.

The animal shuddered, making himself as small as possible and curling his tail around his body, flattening on the ground.

“...P-pardon my inexcusable intrusion… b...but I thought w-we could give the boy a trial period.”

“Trial?” Our voices overlapped again, and me and the soul monger exchanged a glare.

“Y...yes… like a… money-back-guarantee kind of trial.” The tanuki sputtered.

While I looked at him, skeptical, the other seemed confused as to what the definition entailed.

“Hey, stupid raccoon!” The call of the lord, cutting like a dagger, made the animal jump and rattle more than before. I started pitying him and wondered, at the same time, if Daikon had been truly forced under the thumb of that snooty character, or if it was one of these long and messy master-servant relationships passed down for generations. “Since my awakening, you've been using strange terms that I seem not to comprehend. Also this child is using foul words like chuuni-something or door-to-whatever. What is it this secret code of yours?” His genuine admission amazed me, somehow. I observed their interaction in silence. I had forgotten fright and anxiety, and albeit the situation was more compromised than ever, it didn’t feel so out of place like it had been before. I tilted my head and curiosity filled my eyes when they brushed again on the animal’s frame.

“This is, my lord, the age of the boar and _that is_ how the people speak nowadays. You didn't listen to me but I tried telling you that this isn't-” The god coughed loudly, cutting the sentence before the tanuki could end it; then blinked, seemingly disoriented for a moment at being studied like some vintage wreck by a kid that should’ve probably regarded him sparkling with awe. However, after giving me a dirty look, he immediately re-conquered his unflappable, snob mien and returned to the poor beast between us.

“I knew that! I'm a superior being, you stupid servant! I know for example that we’re in...” he moved his attention to me again and leaned in, whispering something in my ear.

“… Edo?” He muttered, unconvinced.

“Tokyo,” I said out loud, biting my upper lip to hide an amused smirk.

“Tokyo!” He parroted, shouting at least a couple of decibels louder as to cover my voice, thus almost destroying my eardrums. I moved away, massaging my ear and frowning at the red leaves under my feet. That situation was starting to get ugly, and I was there chattering with people who wanted to enslave me or who knows what. I had to think fast and find a way out of there before things turned dramatic.

I needed time and time I’d buy. “So, what about the trial?” I tried, nonchalantly. If I showed interest, there was a small percentage that they’d spare me some days to think it over, and in that span of time, I could manage to come out with a plan to resolve this shady business. _If_ I found a way. How many chances I had at outwitting two spirits? One of them was a God, to boot. Scarce to none at best. Zero at worst.

The soul monger signaled the other to take the word, probably because he didn’t know what it was himself.

Daikon cleared his voice and shapeshifted. Assisting at the fact, happening there, in front of me, pulled the corners of my mouth into a large, surprised ‘o’. He was 100% an actual tanuki. His tail, paws, and muzzle retracted so fast I almost didn’t see them, turning him back into the human I was used to, clothing in place and everything.

The raccoon adjusted his specs on his nose and explained his proposal in detail.

 

* * *

 

 

“I refuse!” The god didn’t seem pleased with the suggested plan when his yelling resounded in the nearby forest startling a flock of birds awake. Honestly, he hadn’t agreed to any of the many variations of it, which Daikon had diligently listed out following a sort of protocol, according to him. I was tired; I didn’t know what time it was or if dad had noticed my absence at home and I was beginning to feel a new kind of anxiety rising within me. I had to find a way to leave that place as soon as possible. But I couldn’t do it, so long as we didn’t reach a compromise. Obviously, I wasn’t going to give my consent either. Just a crazy person would form a contract with such an annoying, brass idiot.

“It never happened before that I granted this kind of privilege to a human and it never will!” He kept walking frantically to and fro for at least an hour, a time I exploited to sit down and rest my sore legs and think in turn.

Daikon prompted that I’d sign a temporary contract that would expire in a year from that day. In that time, the annoying carrot top would show me how his powers indeed worked and in return… I had to give nothing. It seemed shady. A lot more than before. _Nothing_ sounded a little too cheap for having at my disposal the wonders of a heavenly creature. It was like making him work for free, so I could understand why he was so indisposed.

Additionally, they’d given zero explanations about the reason why they'd chosen me, why I had been lured there and why my dream was a picture in a pile of papers. I had to shut up and accept my destiny without questions. As if! I had to change strategy.

“What happens if I sign it?” At my new query, both the spirits turned eagerly in my direction like starved beasts. Which, sincerely, spooked me enough to sprint standing, ready to flee.

“You’d… do it?” Daikon kneeled at my feet, almost kowtowing. He grabbed my leg and bowed his head non-stop. “Did you hear that, M'Lord? He’d accept this! Please, give your consent!” I shook my head repeatedly as many times as the other nodded his. “Hold your horses! I said if! If!” But the tanuki continued to gaze expectantly at his master, ignoring my voice as if I’d said yes. “Oi! Daikon! I said—”

“I accept.” The redhead spoke before letting me finish and all my hopes to gain some time relying on what seemed an utter refusal from his part, totally crumbled. I had made a false move. I should’ve known better than to play with words with creatures that had lived for centuries.

“The terms of the definitive contract will become understandable to you once it’s sealed. In a year you’d be free to decide if to keep me or not.” Who are you, I thought, a dog? “I won’t ask of you any compensation during that time and my powers will be at your disposal. The only thing I need is your energy in order to recharge my abilities. How about it? Yes or Yes?”

They left me no choice. I didn’t have a say, and what was worse, I had no chance to escape either.

The man tapped his foot on the ground, leaves crackling like fire, fire that brimmed clear in the spirit’s eyes, impatient, hungry and angry.

“Wait. What do you mean my energy?” I gritted my teeth. If I had to accept their irrefutable offer, at least I wanted to make sure he wasn’t tricking me again.

“My powers work so long as I can draw on your vital resources. It means that, if you ask something of me, later you’ll have to share your strength so that I can recharge. Logically it won’t happen in the case you don’t use them, but you must.”

While he said that, his face twisted in thousand wrinkles; and he sniffed too, in a way that struck me as a dog trying chase away a fly from its muzzle. “What if I use too much of your power and what happens to me when I make proper use of it?” The god stared at me, evidently annoyed. “You faint or die in the first case, you’ll just feel a bit weak in the second. Now the contract.” He pushed on.

“Wait, wait, hold on a moment! Die? What’s with that?!” Losing my energy didn’t sound pretty, but my whole life? How did I know what was too much and what was right?

“Calm down, child. I won’t let it happen.” He seemed more serious than he let on when his eyes narrowed like cracks on a wall, so thin I struggled to glimpse the color of the irises. I didn’t believe his words. After all, he said there was no precise definition of what he was… and if many had also called him a demon, there must have been a reason. I looked straight into his eyes and repeated my thoughts emphatically. “I don’t trust you.”

I didn’t see Daikon, which stood not too far ahead, but I didn’t need to do it to imagine he was as tensed as the other one and me. We glowered at each other, until the god reached out, extending his open palm reluctantly to me. While doing that, he turned away.

“Neither do I!” He grunted, “but both you and me don’t have a choice. This way is how things work. Take my hand so that we can seal the contract. Hurry!” In its harshness, I glimpsed dejection in his voice. And it was just a second, but in that span, a tidal wave of guilt crashed over me so strongly that I felt tears stinging in my eyes. The impression that I knew he’d done that thing many, many, many, many times was so vivid that I had to shake my head to throw off that feeling.

That moment of weakness, though, cost me too dearly… because a second later, he’d already grabbed my hand.


	4. Tight x Tight

 

Who hasn’t ever experienced a hypnic jerk? The phenomenon many define as _soul slip._ The sudden, startling sensation occurring when you’re about to drift off to sleep but not yet dormant. One moment the heartbeat quickens in your chest and a moment later, which lasts a fraction of second, something in your stomach flips as if you’re falling. Now, imagine the same emotion expanding in time and lasting for minutes; minutes that seem hours, hours that feel like days. That is what I felt when the soul monger’s hand wrapped around mine. Tension and pain spread to every fiber of my body as though thousand of electrical wires had latched onto my nerves; I wanted to scream, but couldn’t. I wanted to cry, but didn’t shed a tear. Albeit keeping my eyes squeezed shut, I could still perceive scorching flashes of red-black heat against the eyelids and a magnetic, centrifugal force pulling and pushing me around. It persevered for a long time, until everything relapsed to its original status, like a long film rewinding back in its loader in a breath.  

I lost consciousness and didn’t remember exactly what happened after that. Only one thing was certain: our interim contract was sealed.

 

* * *

 

Later, my eyes reopened to the blow-up of a broad back. Still dazed and unfocused, I found myself staring at a kimono coat which was intertwined with lighter threads that formed a crest or something vaguely recalling one. The needlework showed a tree whose branches spiraled around a faded kanji that I read as ‘ _one.’_

What was that?

My sight slowly adapted to the night and its grayscale, if I looked up, I could distinguish the shapes of the trees- they were so dark and sharp they seemed cutouts of kids’ drawings- which tips blurred into the sky.

Where was I?

I tried moving a hand on the ground beneath, however, a piercing twinge at the height of my forearm stopped the movement immediately. I let out a pained whine.

“Don’t move.” The man sitting with his back to me turned over his shoulder and spared me a glance, which I evaded, looking away. “As… if I had a choice.” I grumbled against the leaves tickling my face. My body wouldn't ache if I stayed put, the only part that kept stinging despite my stillness was my leg.

I closed my eyes again and took in a long, rickety breathe in the attempt to calm down. The Hill, of course. That was the Hill. I had lost consciousness after that crazy God had grabbed my hand. I was rattled and so fed up with all that fainting that made me look like some anemic bastard! With a muffled groan, I tried to get up on my elbows and checked  the situation on the rest of my body.

I reared up and then backtracked, ending up carving the imprint of my ass on the leafy carpet under it. “W…what’s that?!” I squeaked, as a result, like a domino, all the sore muscles in my body switching to the pain function one after another forced me to fall on my back like a turtle once again.

“A chain.” The other replied, returning to whatever he was doing, his voice charged with dull irony as to underline the obviousness of my question. I turned sharply toward him, another stab of pain, another grimace.

“I can see that!” I denoted, “I meant to say what’s that thing _there_ doing tied to my-”  I trailed off as the realization hit me. I followed the path of the metal-linked rings that went from my ankle to the ground, until the soul monger raised his hand in front of my face, shaking a portion of the thing in his palm without moving from his position.

“It was written on the original contract. You know, instructions.” He said, dropping the chain at his feet again, where now I could clearly see an iron fetter - similar to mine - clasped around his heel and glinting in the dim night light. “Aren’t you a little too slow for your age?”

I bristled at the way he added that, so nonchalantly. “I’m not slow! _I couldn’t read it_!” I felt so ashamed, yelling like that, completely hopeless on the ground. If I could just move a leg and kick his shin!

“Then you’re slow _and_ ignorant.” He continued, turning again just to drop a belittling smirk in my way.

I am fairly certain that in that moment my face had twisted in so many ugly grimaces that a rockfish would’ve looked pretty in comparison. I could feel anger filling my neck and cheeks in a pool of heat and every nerve in my body tensing at the sharpest degree. Never, never before I had wanted to punch someone with such a drive! _If only had I known, back then, what it meant._

I was about to throw a comeback, but just when my mouth opened, the soul monger stood up and started moving. All that left my lips was a spurt of air while in two strides he dragged me along like a human cart.

“Wai—oi! Ow! Stop!” It didn’t matter how much I shouted and flailed, that man was as stubborn as a goat and played deaf. I have lost count of the times my head bumped against some rock or shrub on the way, but I can still remember the exact number of insults I threw after that bastard.

We traversed the woods for about ten minutes and during that time I felt like a convicted hauled against his will to the pillory. I’d asked, no, yelled at the god where we were going or what he had in mind; but not _once_ he’d bothered to enlighten me on the matter. Moreover, every patch of my skin burned, as also every bone and muscle and I couldn’t take anymore.

Just a while later, the red-haired jackass stopped, just on the outskirts of the forest and me with him. When I looked up, ready to give him a piece of my mind, the side of his face I could glimpse by my position showed utter astoundment. I gobbled words down with saliva. He kept facing the horizon, an invisible horizon hidden behind high skyscrapers and versicolored lights that streamed in circles like obon lanterns on the surface of a river.

We must have been on the topmost spot of the hill, because from there, one could see a sliver of Tokyo from amid the ferns and while it wasn’t nothing spectacular nor distant enough to be considered breathtaking from my point of view, it seemed to completely take the other aback. For one that still believed that was Edo, it must have been a shock.

“Oi, ‘you there?” I nudged his calf with the tip of my shoe, but the god seemed shut off from the world. Groaning, I finally climbed on my feet feeling like Benjamin Button and swore on my life I’d listen to anything my father would complain about when he’d turn old and full of aches and pains.

I walked by the man’s side, standing far away enough to make some room to pick up and use my portion of chain as a nunchaku - not that I knew how to use one, but I’d seen enough movies at Kenta’s to remember how to swing it - if the chance arose and he’d try to attack me.

But the chance never came. At first I kept an eye on him sideways, pretending to sightseeing as well; but soon enough, I started veering my attention completely on the bizarre character. It was the first time that I looked at him properly and he didn’t seem as scary as before anymore. He looked like a human being through and through, and now definitely younger than when he made a face. No, he definitely wasn’t scary at all.

“Oi,” the soul monger finally spoke and with a jolt I abruptly looked away. “Lead me to your _manor_ , child.” He said.

He had some nerve. Some nerve that inevitably made mine pop like bubble wrap. “I’m _leading you_ nowhere, and stop calling me a _child_ , it’s annoying!” I brusquely leashed back, still not looking at him. I wasn’t a kid anymore… or at least… strived not to be one.

He stayed silent for a moment, I felt his inquisitive gaze on me and my shoulders squared instantaneously.

“You’re leading me to your house, or whatever it is…” he left his sentence unfinished, probably to let me fill in the blanks. When I turned over and my eyes brushed on the man, he was staring at me with his customary sanctimonious pout in place, brows knitted in a way that underlined an unspoken ‘ _come on, I’m giving you a privilege.’_

I wanted to punch that face so badly!

“Ats—  _Kimishita!”_ I corrected, instantaneously. _“_ Kimishita will do.”

“Very well, _Kimishita._ Now you’ll lead me to your _damn_ hut.”

After a twenty minutes squabble, I gave up.

 

* * *

 

Along the way, I wondered what was the kind of powers that charlatan possessed. He didn't use any. One would have expected we'd teleport from Hill-to-town in a second; but we were walking around like normal people. From time to time, when I slowed down a bit due to my temporary deficits - I was limping and hurting everywhere! - the ‘god' would purposely pick up the pace and yank me forward; snickering like an idiot immediately after. Not to give him any satisfaction, I set my jaws, and sped up, trying to ignore the sparks of pain seizing my limbs as if someone was hitting them with wooden sticks.

Unfortunately, our trip back hadn't been a stroll. First, at that hour the streets were still filled with patrols and businessmen going back home after a long day. We had had to slip in the alleys more than once; and each time the capricious god had patently refused to comply.

Second, each time a car passed by, he’d freak out; shouting sutras - or whatever he was chanting in that sibylline language I didn’t understand - after them. Thus, at some point I had picked up the chain and started using it as an impromptu leash; it was like taking a dog twice as my size for a walk, and for that reason, more than once I had been the one dragged around (again.)

When we finally reached my house, I was bathing in my sweat; breathing hard and so beaten it was a miracle that I was still standing. I wasn’t the only one, though…

I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen it with my very eyes: next to me, leaning against a wall, the red-haired guy was struggling to catch his breath too. Which, if one thought he was supposed to be a powerful spirit, should have been borderline impossible.

“Are you sure…” I started, between a breath and another, “you’re not an imposter?”

The man was bent down, holding his knees, when his outraged gaze flickered towards me. “I’m just,” he took a pause and literally bit air, starved for it. But even so, managed to straight up and give me the _five-star look,_ “being considerate. I forgot living beings have weak lungs!”

How could he so brazenly say that line with his tongue almost lolling out his mouth _and expect me to believe that_ was beyond me; so much that I gawked at the man short of comments.

“No need to thank me.” He added, with a hair-flip.

“I wasn’t going to do that!” I squawked, ultimately pissed off.

The commotion outside must have been quite loud, in fact, a moment later I heard the sound of the shutter of the shop clanking open and the tension in my body blowed up like a supernova, straightening even the last hair on my head.

“Atsushi!”

I didn’t have time to turn that the elated footsteps of my dad and his _extremely worried_ timbre echoed in the street behind me. It had been so fast, that I didn’t even register the moment when my face hit his strong chest. Dad was kneeling on the ground, wrapping his arms around me with a desperation I had never seen before. His body trembled like a leaf and in turn, I felt mine starting to quiver as much. I felt like shit. The worst scum in the planet.

“Where have you been, my boy? Are you hurt? I thought someone might have kidnapped you! Thank God, thank God you’re safe!”

I couldn’t say a word, I kept staring wide-eyed at the black fabric of his shirt while my heart drummed wildly in my chest, threatening to explode.

Why did I let that happen? Why had I allowed that man to be sad? Why did I make him so worried? I had strived so much, so much all my life to prevent that moment to come.

“So…” my throat stung and burned for how much I was trying to hold back tears. I couldn’t even say _a pathetic sorry,_ because I knew it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“It's all right now. Dad is here. Dad is here.” He whispered, and stroke my back and hair so tenderly and dearly, _so much,_ that all my body collapsed against his. That was the first time I embraced my father since I was born. Albeit I felt dirty, albeit I felt undeserving and shameful… I had never realized how much I've always wanted it, until that very moment.

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt the dramatic reunion but… _you’re breaking my leg,_  brat.”

That obnoxious, irritating and repugnant voice sounded in my ears like a nightmare and my eyes, that I had shut before, snapped open again, reminding me _he was still there._

“Shut up! It’s all your fault! Go away!” I shouted, while my father cradled me.

“What you say? Y—o—u l—i—t—t—l—e...” The God sputtered.

“Atsushi?” Dad asked, at the same time.

I took a step back and suddenly realized… that _he was still there._ I didn’t think, like a stupid, of the consequences that might bring if my father had noticed him. What would he think? Seeing his son walking chained to an adult in the middle of the night? That I was victim of some kind of perverted illegal affair? Or worse, that _I was_ a deviated kid.

“I can explain everything! It’s not as it seems!” I grabbed my father’s shoulders, so spooked that he jumped as well.

“Atsushi, you’re so pale. Son, what happened to you? Tell your father, whatever it is I’ll take care of it. Daddy will protect you and beat the sh— stuff out of whoever did you wrong!” This time, he was the one squeezing my arms in a tight grip.

“No, dad! It’s not as it seems! I swear it’s...n...o…” in my elated harangue I hadn’t noticed that the god had moved behind my father. I slowly gazed up, he was looking down on me, picking at his nose and observing the scene as if it was a circus act.

“Dad…” I said, returning quickly on the older man, “how many people do you see here now?”

My father blinked; scanned his surroundings and then gave me a quizzical look.

“Two?” He replied with a faint smile.

Have you ever seen a volcano about to erupt? Before it lets out a violent discharge of steam mixed with rocks and lava, there’s an earthquake that indicates it is charging. Very well, that was _my body_ in that precise second— brimming with embarrassment and rage— ready to _burst._ I felt so… stupid and I wouldn’t be surprised if my only parent thought I was crazy!

“Atsushi, let’s go inside. Shall we?” Instead, he patted my head again and beckoned me to follow him. He was like that, he never asked, he never meddled. He just kept understanding me, watching over me, acting as my shield and sword in silence… and I was still so full of myself to think I could take care of that man. What a fool. What a brat.

I dipped my head, nodding shyly and didn’t say a word more.

He was too powerful, he was too great.

 

* * *

 

After that stunt, me and dad parted ways awkwardly, at least for my part. He reassured me that everything was fine but I felt as if a page of my life had been rewritten and everything I had believed up to that point had been wrong. We had sat around the low table in the kitchen for a long time, in silence, with the ticketing of the clock as the only background sound - if I ignored the other presence behind me lamenting that he was bored and had had enough of that sappy familiar feud  - together with the distant barking of a dog in the night.

It was almost three in the morning. Seeing me sleepy and tired dad had just told me to try to rest and that we’d resume the topic tomorrow.

What a joke.

When I reached my room, I closed the paper screen in the god’s face and sat right in front of it, because - sadly - we were still chained and I couldn’t move too far away. He must not have expected it, because as soon as I did, he shouted a river of expletives in my way, kicked the door several times and then with a final bump, fell sitting on the other side; or so I thought, hearing the sound of his back hitting on the thin surface at my back.

I frowned at the window in front of me for a long time, feeling my lids heavy but not giving in to drowsiness.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I elbowed the screen behind me.

No response.

“Oi, I’m talking to you,” I tried again.

“And I’m not talking to you.” From the reply and the tone of his voice, I gathered that he was - obviously - offended.

“You just did, jerk.” I muttered.

On the other side, for the first time, I heard the metallic jangle of chains grazing the floor and mused why it had become clear just now. To be honest, there were still too many question marks floating around regarding that situation. I still was oblivious as to why that freak had chosen me, why this _temporary_ contract had been sealed with basically an handshake, why my body hurt and what had happened to me; where was Daikon? Why the chains? What were these drawings on the contract that so much resembled my dream? And now, why it seemed as if I was the only one that could see the god?

If I wanted to _still_ stick to reason as I often did, I’d diagnose everything as a figment of my imagination. It was easy, I was turning crazy and imagining things. In the end, nobody could prove I’d truly _lived_ that experience. I could feel pain, it was true, but what if I had inflicted these wounds on my person all by myself? I was no doctor but, on the internet, or passing on the news, I’d heard many times of things like that. Hallucinations, personality disorders. How could I be sure this wasn’t just a big delusion of mine?

Imaginary friends? An imaginary world I had built around me to escape stress, maybe?

Whatever it was, at least for me, it seemed all too real. I could touch the god, I had interacted with Daikon many times in school and not just me. I could ask my classmates, but what if it turned out like the story of the well near the bank? I was convinced that I had spent _years_ using that cheap heap of stones as hideout, but… it was all a delusion.

“Can I ask you just one question?” Once again, my body started shaking under the weight of that fear, that something with me was wrong. I couldn’t believe it, after all. I hugged my legs and drew them against my face.

For a few moments, when I received no reply, anxiety seized again both my mind and heart.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“What?”

But when it came, when I heard his voice again, something, a tiny something shaped as hope emitted one beat in my chest.

“There are many people you could’ve chosen instead of me, so why?” My voice was small, I couldn’t keep my eyes open any further. My head started sagging more and more forward, until the door behind me slid open abruptlyand I almost fell on the floor. I didn’t have time to protest because the god took word before I could.

“Can’t tell you,” he replied and grabbed my head like a soccer ball, slamming it unceremoniously on his lap. “Now sleep and shut up, tomorrow we’re gonna test my power and I need you full of the energy you’ll sacrifice to me.”

I tried to fight the palm pressing on my nape to no avail but managed to point out an obvious fact, at least: “I have a bed, you know?!”

“I’ve dealt with humans before, who do you take me for? I’ve learned that they feel completely recharged when they sleep with someone.”

I was still a kid so at that time I didn’t understand the real meaning behind his words and the fact that they applied just to adults. I’m pretty certain that he himself was utterly oblivious to them. For that reason, because I was too ingenuous and tired, I drifted to the oneiric world with a grimace on my face.

_That night I slept like shit._


	5. Soccer x Idiot

“Child, I asked a question and _you'll give me an answer._ Pronto.”  Yes, this is what _he ordered._ Petulant. Full of himself. Unbearable. _If I owned a revolver, I would have known where to aim its barrel._ I know what you think: _but you were the cretin who fell for it_. That is right and why I _hated myself_ more than I loathed his voice.

I hated myself so much that breathing itself had become a rite of purification; I did it slowly, in and out, in and out, while my fingers tightened around the strap on my shoulder and their tips turned white and the center of my palm started burning hard. It was the fourth time in fifteen minutes I had ignored him. Mind, _fifteen minutes_ since we stepped out of my home. That morning, I woke up with a sore body, a motherfucker snoring in my ear - sprawled on the floor and occupying at least three quarters of my room - and a strong murdering desire. My neck felt like I had slept on a chunk of wood, and the urge to scream - when the shattered recollections of the day before resurfaced in my mind - hindered my mouth like when you eat squid ice-cream in a public place: your mouth is chock full of it and you want to spit it out because it’s disgusting, but you can’t, because there’s always someone around that’s looking at you. In my case, I had already given at least ten reasons to my father to think his son was ready for the nuthouse. I didn’t need add-ons.

I was trapped. Chained. Tied to someone who claimed to be a supernatural being and didn't know the reason.

What was worse? My privacy had flown out of the window. I was - and still am - someone who at least requires a full hour of disintoxication, alone and away from the world, to face the day without wanting to decimate the nation. It was a problem. A serious problem. Especially because he was everywhere at any time. He was with me in the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the streets, in my room. And I had to live like that for a whole year. I could already read the news on all the newspapers: _ten years old child hangs himself for no reason_.

In order to at least retrieve a shred of routine, I had started pretending he wasn’t there. Even if he kept yapping about using his powers, that he had no time to waste upon mortal activities and I had to abide by his laws.

Laws that in my young and scarred mind meant nothing. Thus, I had gathered my things, polished my cleats, awkwardly exchanged a few words with my father and headed out with my soccer bag slung on a shoulder.

I was in a weird mood that I find hard to describe with words. Let’s just say that my conscience was split in many different segments; one part of me was scared, the other annoyed, another mortified for what had happened with my only parent and a little, very little, invisible portion felt _excited._

Ah, I forgot _annoyed._

There was a comfortable heat outside, the typical one of early mornings, the kind that doesn’t burn your skin but it feels nice against it even if you can’t breath. So, if that was another day, I’d have probably run to the pitch. Unfortunately, that wasn’t _another day._

From the very moment we left the house, the god had started giving me a full throttle third degree as to where we were going, why, how long would it take, when we'd test his powers and why I wasn’t replying to any of his questions. And he continued, in a infinite loop, even when we went past the florist, crossed the railroad; boarded the train, got off the train and finally reached the last stretch of highway headed to the pitch. I’d never tried alcohol in my life but if the sensation a drunk man felt after quaffing saké at parties was even remotely comparable to that; I swore to myself I’d never drink a drop.

“Hey, child!” the god shouted from above me, over and over and over again. I could feel his brisk, heavy steps stomping on the concrete as capriciously as a spoiled rugrat’s. His voice, apparently restrained, held that razor-sharp edge typical of him; something akin to contempt marking the last syllable of every word he spoke; as if he just pretended to be collected but underneath was about to explode. “Oi Kid!” obtaining no success with the previous tactic, the _demon_ changed approach. “Felon. Rascal. Ruffian. Stupid… Wimp!” his grumbling and growling didn’t stop, until he muttered something indefinite and then shut up. I was scowling so hard that the street in front of me had become blurred but continued walking as if all the buzzing behind me belonged to some nasty wasp.

“D’y’have _some problem_ with _me,_ _bru_? Playin’ butthurt just cus’ I fondled your big sis’ tiddies a bit.”

I almost risked to end up run over by a car for not noticing the traffic light when I turned over my shoulder to make sure the voice I heard at my back belonged to the same person.

“W...ha…?” I stared at him, confused; while the old man standing behind the soul monger looked around to see if I was referring to him or not.

“I see. It’s all clear now.” The god mused, observing me as a scientist would’ve analyzed a guinea pig, while smoothing the skin under his chin with a finger. “I had just guessed it, but it seems that you cannot properly comprehend me. As expected of a peasant! I wouldn’t want to stoop so low as to adjust my refined language to this… vulgar… way…of speaking you use in this era, you know, I’m a soul monger; a divine being, the creator o—”

“Where did you learn to speak like that?!” As I enquired, the elderly of before blinked and the god just stared back at me, nonplussed. “And stop calling me a peasant, child, ignorant or… or whatever! You don’t make sense in your _own_ way of speaking, don’t come up with _another_ to fan the flames!” I should have controlled my reaction, because now not just the old mummy, but all the people standing near and behind us at the crossroad started whispering among them and throwing weirded out glances in my direction. I stiffened, gradually sinking in the collar of my shirt and turned away after bowing a couple of times. I had strived so much in order to maintain a low profile!

“What are you talking about? I perfectly imitated these shady characters quarreling over there.” The God pointed at two punks on the other side of the road that seemed to being effectively bickering. I followed his finger and spotted them as well. How in the world did he hear their conversation from where we stood? But, more importantly; how was it relevant in any way? I looked at the two for a brief moment and remembering the crowd surrounding us decided I didn’t give a damn. I was so mortified that, as soon as the red light switched to green, started walking as fast as I could.

The God shouted something, but I didn’t turn. I just kept going, straight on, with my face on fire and the wild craving to kill him flaring in my chest.

 

* * *

 

 

“No.”

His stride halted abruptly, action that pulled the chain and knocked me to the ground face-first. We were just a few yards away from the soccer field and I was lucky enough nobody, this time, was around to see how I made a complete ass of myself.

“I’m so sick of all of this!” I groaned, exasperated, pushing up on my hands to stand and turn to face the stupid god. “Listen, I've gained more bruises in two days than in ten years! I want to play today so give me a break!” If that thing kept going on someone could end up calling the social services on my dad.

“I don't like outdoor meals.” He replied, crossing his arms over his chest, gazing over the greens.

I was speechless. Was he even listening to me? Evidently not, from the way he was frowning at something far beyond my frame.

“What?!” I didn't understand him. I didn't understand his way of thinking, I didn't understand his words and didn't understand why I was still trying to do that!

“Are you deaf? I said _that I dislike outdoor meals._ I’m not your nanny, child. If you want to play under the watch of an adult, use your father. I’ve taken part in a few banquets like this one before, but at least they had an acceptable view and weren’t out of season. What do you expect me to do, kneeling on a tablecloth, under the scorching sun without cherry blossoms?” Now, while he was so passionately recapping how much he deplored picnics; without further ado I walked in his direction until I was near enough to _dispassionately_ kick his shin with all my irked might.

Once again, though, when the tip of my foot reached the bone- it felt as if I’d just hit a sturdy rock.

It hurt. But I didn’t let it out.

The man finally lowered his gaze onto me - that holier-than-thou face I couldn’t punch nor wipe off because he… was a god - and _snickered._ “What was that, _Kimishita_? Are you _trying_ to pick a fight with **_me_** _?_ ” The way he said _me_ made all my nerves jump, one after another. While he slowly bent to my height, his smile grew wider and smugly, so amused that in contrast my gritted teeth screeched within my mouth. I inhaled sharply, the pit of my stomach hurt and twisted for how much pitiful and humiliated I felt in that moment. However, I had more important things to do. Something, in the court of common sense in my brain, suggested that I should behave like the adult I wanted to be; even if I had no idea how.

“We’re not going to eat.” I tried, glaring at him right in the eye. “This…” I swallowed, trying to control anger and shame, “this is practice. _My_ training. And you won’t ruin it.” As soon as the last whisper left my lips, the soul monger tilted his head backward and rose, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Practice? Swordsmanship _? Gha, another one!_ You human beings are always at war. _”_  He walked away, tracing the perimeter of the pitch with his gaze. “State affairs? You need a war. Someone stole your woman? You need a war. Hunger? War. Family issues? War.” The god gesticulated and strolled in circles, until he regarded me again. “You kill each other with such a ease, that makes me _mad_.”

I don’t know why, but I stepped back at that. At the sudden depth I read in his eyes, at how much they seemed filled with unbridled disdain and indignation.

I knew nothing of what he was talking about, or why it turned him so angry; but again, that sensation I had felt the day before, of regret, pain and guilt started eating away all the air in my lungs. I had to stop it. I had to stop it before it became unbearable.

“Soccer!” I shouted, “It’s just soccer! You run on a field for ninety minutes and kick a ball, nothing more. Nothing less. Nobody dies.” I clutched the folds of my shirt, staring at the concrete under me. “No...body… dies.”

It took me a few seconds to tidy up the confusion in my head and to catch my breath again, when I lifted my gaze, the god was still looking at me, his lids had narrowed so much I struggled framing the irises behind. “Right,” he replied, before turning away and heading toward the pitch. “Never heard of this ‘soccer’ anyway. Since we’re here, you may show me if this training of yours is worth my time. After that, we’re going to test my powers. No objections.”

What was that? I didn’t know, I didn’t understand and the fact annoyed me but he finally seemed to concede and I didn’t want to run late.

“Again, it’s not like I have a choice.” I muttered, giving up and following him.

 

* * *

 

It was a little neighbor squad, I didn’t have the money to pay the fee for a regular association; but so long as I could play district matches and train with a coach, it was fine. I aimed to join a club as soon as I entered middle school anyway and if I wanted to do that, I had to become stronger than I was.

Okay, my opponents and teammates weren’t geniuses or so I thought each time we played. I didn’t dislike it. I was good. Too good for them and knowing that was enough to push me further, try harder, become faster because… I liked the feeling. To be seen as a model, to learn new ways to trick them and predict their moves. The sensation that everything in there was on the palm of my hand and I decided the sorts of the game. It was my kingdom.

The kids were all lined up to begin the drills and the buzzing sound of whispers typical of that moment, just when you’re about to start but not yet, was the one I preferred. It was when my body became fuzzy and excited and my legs started to move, feverish and still cold, ready for the heating up.

“Why are we all in queue?”

Unfortunately, all the usual thrill had disappeared the moment the _invisible_ titan behind me started questioning my every step like a five years old brat.

Instead of giving a reply, as soon as the kid in front of me sped up, I fell into a light run after him with an eye-roll.

The clang of chains at my back soon became stronger, when the god flanked me basically _walking_. Of course, he had long legs, a step of him was four of mine… I didn’t like it.

“Oi, don’t ignore me. Is this a training? Running in circle? This is no different from— hey!”

I was so irritated by the thing, that instantaneously sprinted forward; overtaking him and a few teammates in front of me with ease.

Whilst the other kids shrugged off my impromptu name-dropping, the soul monger didn’t. On the contrary, he accelerated too, breezing past me in a few strides.

Was he…

When he turned over his shoulder and gave me the smuggest smirk; I understood that he’d accepted the challenge and I felt the corners of my mouth tensing and curling up at the same time.

My body still ached, tremendously; but I didn’t care anymore. I put into the next dash all the energy I had and reached him. During the run, some of the children started whispering things like ‘ _what’s wrong with Akkun?’_ or ‘ _he’s just a boaster, as usual.’_ I discovered that what before might have slowed me down, now fueled my spirits. And run faster and faster, until my legs started hurting again.

“Hah, a human kid that tries to win against me! You must be crazy, child.” Even if he shouted that, the god didn’t show any sign of wanting to pull the brake.

“Kimishita!” I corrected. “I’m not _a human kid,_ but the human kid that will make you bite the dust _!”_

_..._

I regretted those words thirty minutes later, when I observed my teammates playing the match from the bench, _without me_. I didn’t dare throw a glance at the dead weight sprawled on the grass and breathing like a old hag next to me. _Challenge the crippled and you’ll lose both legs_ , said often an old lady in my neighborhood; and I’d never thought it’d happen to me someday. I didn’t recall that the god had some… problems of resistance and it was like I had shot at my foot: if he didn’t move, _I couldn’t too._

“Why… are… you… sitting… down? I… can… go… anytime.” He had _still_ the courage to say that while wheezing. At least his idiocy was commendable.

“Shut up, will you?! I had to drag you here like an iron ball and now the coach thinks I've got a sprained ankle. Isn’t this _enough?_ ” I whispered, trying to act less conspicuous as possible. The coach was keeping an eye on me from afar and I didn’t want to end up in front of some psychiatrist because people thought I talked to myself.

“So this is soccer. Nothing different from the hand-ball game, you just use feet to throw the ball in the sky. Why are you playing such a girly game?” I was surprised the soul monger knew temari at all. He must’ve _haunted_ some rich family in the past. “This game is for _men_. It’s very _manly_ , so don’t call it girly.” I talked against the palm of my hand and shot him a dirty look. The soul monger managed to sit cross-legged on the ground, his breath still heavy but at least he wasn’t panting anymore. He framed the pitch, amused.

“Games are for children and women. The only round things human males like to play with are in Yoshiwara.” He added, ironically.

I stared at him wide-eyed, burying my scorching face in the hand. “A…Anyway” I coughed, trying to fan away _improper allusions._ “This isn’t Edo anymore. In _this era_ men play sports. Period.”

The god didn’t reply anymore and continued watching the match. Despite all he had said, it seemed that the _girly game_ had conquered the favour of his majesty in the end, for how engrossed he looked like at some point.

I shook my head, about to return on the pitch too; when his haori caught my attention again.

“Is _Kiichi_ , right?”

When the soul monger turned toward me, it reminded me of the slow motion used during soccer matches in tv. His expression was spooked, as though he’d seen a phantom.

“W...hat?” He stuttered.

“The weird pattern on your back.” I explained, indicating the crest.

“Why… why did you read it that way?!” His voice was ushered but urged an immediate reply.

“Just a guess. It looks like a tree, but the way it’s painted reminds of the strokes of its kanji so I read it as ‘ _ki._ ’ The other one is just elementary; can’t be anything else but ‘ _ichi’._ Am I wrong?”

Suddenly, the god stood up, sharply turning his back to me.

“Yes, you’re wrong!” Nobody else could hear him, I knew. But right in that instant, that sentence echoed so strong that it felt like being in a stadium. Or so it sounded to me. His back seemed bigger and the arms he kept firmly rigid along his hips were so tensed that I could easily discern the veins running along them. I looked at him bewildered. “That’s a Shiba tree!” he shouted again and at that, I jolted. “So you read it as Shiba! _Shiba!_ Let’s go. I’m bored of this place.”

He didn’t give me time to react. Really, as usual, or… at least as he did in these few hours, without asking or explaining, the soul monger just moved. He moved, pulling my leg in his direction without a damn care in the world.

“Wait!” Not again, not this time, I wouldn’t let him choose for me. I clung to the border of the bench, ending up with the upper side of my body stretched mid-air. “We’re not going anywhere! I don’t care if you’re hysterical because I read the name wrong or if you’re just… downright crazy; but because of you I didn’t play today, so I want to at least watch it all!”

I was aware that the coach had started walking in my direction from the end of the pitch. God, the only crazy person in that place was me! I neither wished to succumb to that gratuitous bullism, though.

“You dare disobey me?! I accepted to take part into this… stupid thing… so you could finally get it out your head and concentrate on serious matters! You mustn’t be _aware_ of your place, kid. Let me remind you: I’m the **God** , you’re **the human.** What do you **want** here counts less than the grass I’m stepping on!” He pulled.

“Disobey? I’m not your slave! Really now? Because according **to the contract,** fulfilling my wishes **should be part of your job!** ” I pushed.

“I never said that! And this isn’t a job is a—” Abruptly, he stopped pulling, and my sore buttocks met the ground _again_ in the worst way ever.

“You son of—”

“Why can’t you be a normal child?!” He turned over and stalked over me, shaking his arms over his head.

“What?! Look who’s talking, that’s my line! Usually gods appear as good natured and calm beings! Where were you when the universe distributed enlightenment to the other deities?” I was starting to lose my voice and my temper and common sense, probably.

“I don’t know!” Well, that explained everything, at least.

I started opening my mouth, but the whistle of the coach stopped me before I could tell to that stupid buffoon what I really thought of him.

We both turned in synch toward the third man and I don’t know what happened after that, but I didn’t say a thing, the god didn’t say a thing either. We exchanged a single glance and started running. Just that. Across the pitch and beyond that.

Until the voice of the coach became just a distant whisper.

 

* * *

 

In less than forty eight hours I had destroyed my career as a student, my credibility as a son, my future as a soccer player and my dignity as a human being. What could happen worse? I’ll tell you.

Sometime later, much later than that day, rumors had it that some people had seen me running away from home; so that turned my short trip to the Hill into an attempt to join some posse of troublemakers. The fact I sported all sorts of bruises didn’t help my cause and the last stunt at the pitch just christened the birth of horrible, stupid nicknames that still now are my trademark. I wasn’t anymore just Kimishita Atsushi. I became _the naughty child_ , t _he scarred kid_ , _the little rascal._ Some bastards came up with the story that I was a cast away from the land of the Death.

Anyway, this is just a sad parenthesis in this pitiful soliloquy, so let me retrieve the story where we had left it. Even better, let’s skip some useless events and get to that evening that started with me and that human-shaped dirigible full of bullshit called a _soul monger_ in my father’s shop, with _my father_ in it and a lot of troubles at the horizon.

“Atsushi, you don’t have to stay here. I mean, you know that daddy is delighted every time we spend some time together but it’s summer… ” The old man had repeated that same sentence five or six times, but I hadn’t lifted my face from my homework once. I kept reading and scribbling behind the counter next to him decided more than ever not to let him down again.

When I had come back from practice he'd seen me out of breath and without soccer bag. As usual, he’d given me a bright smile and welcomed me home; but from the slight furrow in his brows and confused gaze I’d glimpsed that word again: worry. He wasn’t obvious, but neither was I thick.

So, to at least try to pick up the pieces of my recent failures; I decided to help him watching the shop. Even if with that heat the probability of getting clients was as high as meeting the emperor in a supermarket.

“I’m good.” That was all I said. I was still walking on eggshells around him and surely that wouldn’t change soon. Once I stumbled and fell, it took me awhile to get up again; at least for what concerned human relationships. No matter with whom.

“In that case, I won’t insist. Do your best.” He gave me a pat on the head and moved amidst the shelves. “While my vice-captain watches the boat, I’ll tidy up around!” I looked up just to give him a nod; he turned a corner and when he disappeared behind it I returned on my commitment.

“Atsushi.”

I sighed, returning my attention to the same man who was now peeking at me from behind a pile of boxes.

“Batten down the hatches matey! Arh!” He bent his index finger as an hook and started laughing like a sort of… buccaneer.

I scowled at him and he laughed, disappearing again behind the boxes.

“I had no idea.” When the god standing behind me spoke, I knew that asking him _about what_ was just a waste of time. However, I must have had some sort of masochistic hidden side back then, because I turned over my shoulder and raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

“In centuries, I’ve seen all the kinds of boats… but this one looks like a shop. I’ll give you that, you should feel honored that today, you marveled a god!”  I didn’t know if he was seriously that dense or just played it off that well, whatever was the result, though, wouldn’t have changed my utter disbelief.

“ **You** should feel honored that I’m still listening to your nonsense.” I shook my head, returning to my book for the umpteenth time; discovering I had finally lost the thread.

“ _You impudent child_! I’ll show you how great is my power, so you’ll finally learn your damn place! Hurry, give me your hand!”

“W-” No, he didn’t leave me time to actually _understand_ what was going on, because as usual did things his way - as in, without thinking - and took my hand like he did the day before. I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting pain to wash over me.

Nothing happened, though, and minutes passed.

“... So?” I asked, staring at our palms joined like in some sort of depressing soap opera. “Are you malfunctioning?”

He was smirking, in a way that left me no doubts. I swallowed my words. That bastard was sucking my energy! In fact, my limbs had started getting weaker and weaker, the pen I was holding between my fingers fell on the table and drowsiness was overwhelming me. I panicked. “Enough!” Fast, I retracted my hand with a yelp, bringing it against my chest as if it was scorching. The god stepped back, but the curve on his lips didn’t fade. It widened, if possible. He stared at his palm, closing and opening it; then, a maniacal laugh erupted from him, he cackled like the mad evil guys you see in movies. Now try not to agree with me when I say he was _crazy_.

Psycho turned over me again, striking, one after another, a series of ridiculous poses not even Shouichi would’ve dared thinking of. Once appeased with the result, he spoke.

“Child! This is the day many waited for centuries! I, the _Almighty_ , have finally returned! May the waters recede in the riverbeds, the earth shake and the sky turn dark! Behold, human race, the power of the Highest!”

It is ironic, how in that moment I thought he'd make a good politician for all the nonsense he was spitting. I observed him like one who'd watch a person who’d just told a sad joke.

“You done?” I asked, just in case, so I could do something else if he had to go on for longer than that.

I was _gifted_ with a dark glare, probably the god was expecting applauses or ovations, but receiving none he merely crossed his arms and sniffed petulantly; turning away. “ _Fuck you, heathen._ Anyway, tell me what you want.” He mumbled. Did he just swear? Could holy beings do _that?_

“Everything?”

 _I wanted_ many things and if I were another person, would’ve probably asked them all. However, I didn’t trust him. In any legend, fable or whatever, there was always a trick behind formulating a request which moral was always one: be careful of what you wish for, it might turn against you.

“Anything _that has a price_.” He pointed out. I stared at the wooden surface beneath me. I had to ask for something because that was in the contract; even if the thought scared and tempted me at the same time.

What would have another asked? Games, a bigger house, tons of the highest quality ice-cream… there was no limit, apparently, to what I could desire if I gave my energy in return.

“I…” it was difficult to formulate a strategic request like that. Even if I felt tired, thrill and impatience had started to make my body shake. I was a kid after all. A wary one, yes, but still a kid. And as any other kid, I was greedy. I thought hard. _Begin with something easy, simple, that won’t cause trouble,_ I thought. But what?

The quiet whistling of my dad not too far ahead responded to my question.

“Can you… bring… more customers here?” I whispered.

“Such high standards…” the soul monger grumbled, without even trying to hide the annoyed irony in his voice. I frowned at the desk. “I don’t trust you and don’t want to _pass out or die_ ,” I quoted him, finally looking up in his direction. Popping his neck he stepped away, next to the counter. “Cheapskate.” He added, before snapping his fingers and leaning his hip against the side of the counter, staring at the door of the shop.

“Be ready to worship me.” The god concluded, sounding so convinced that I gazed in the same direction, but spotted nobody. I was confused. Was he mocking me or had actually done anything?

“I won’t worship y—”

I didn’t finish the sentence, because the jarring sound of something blowing-up outside ate it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Temari: game that was popular before and during the feudal era consisting in stuffed balls that were thrown in the air and caught back again and again and again.  
> Yoshiwara: red light district very famous in the Edo era.  
> Shiba Tree: a plant whose leaves change into a particular shade of red during fall.


End file.
